Days Come And Go
by SwitchSox34
Summary: Necessity is the driving force of all ambition. The Underground is in need and Sarah is Jareth's only ambition.
1. I've Never Forgiven This Broken Heart

Jareth stared up at the ancient tapestries that lined the Temple of Deos and sighed. Another hour of prayer and he was still no closer to a resolution than he had been when he'd set foot in the doorway. Rising from where he knelt, he faced the altar at the front of the Temple and bowed his head as he pressed the first two fingers of his right hand to his forehead, his lips, and his chest. The ancient blessing echoed in his mind, in time with his movements: _My thoughts, my words, and my actions, for You, O God, _and with one, last, fleeting glance at the altar, he turned and strode from the building and into the halls of the palace.

Sweeping walls of gray marble rose majestically before him, shielding the nobility that scurried down the halls from the storm clouds that would bring the rain, in a few months. He made little eye contact with the various Lords and Ladies as they passed him, murmuring formalities and bowing him out of sight. How he detested all of their rigidity and their decorum. They did not speak until he had rounded the corner and then he heard the whispers begin.

"_He can't find a suitable wife." _

"_Arroyan holds him back." _

"_I wonder what his rule will turn out to be."_ He resisted the urge to turn right back around and give them a piece of his mind; shame them for life, but he couldn't refute their statements and didn't really feel like trying. Glancing up, over the doors to his study, he met the gaze of the imperious looking monarch that had sat for this portrait: his Great Grandfather, Liam Redevia, the first High King of the Underground. His footsteps faltered for a moment as he met the King's eyes and let the issue that had been bothering him so greatly make another circuit of his mind.

_ A bride, sir? Could you have found anything more troubling to command of your lineage? _

The painting didn't move or speak, as he'd been secretly hoping it would. The King merely stared down at him with that angry look of finality that told him very plainly that he would have to find his own solution to his problem. With a sigh, he dropped his eyes from the painting and pushed through the great oak doors to his study, glancing only briefly at the man sitting in one of the large chaise lounge chairs by the roaring fireplace. Arroyan was often found in Jareth's study, intently reading one of the many tomes that lined the shelves of the sanctuary while the King conducted business and unwound from days of stress.

"Looking tired, Highness," he murmured to Jareth as he turned a page and continued reading. Jareth glanced at the man as he uncorked a crystal decanter and poured some of its burgundy contents into a matching goblet. Replacing the stopper, he lifted the glass to his lips and felt the familiar calming sensation as alcohol trickled down his throat.

"Not at all, Arroyan. I slept quite pleasantly last night." He paused to take another sip of his choice drink and surveyed the young man who, catching the sarcasm in Jareth's voice had looked up from his book, at last. "I am concerned, however," he continued, setting the goblet down and crossing his arms over his chest, "about the current state of affairs in my kingdom." Their gazes locked and neither looked away for several moments.

"I will not relent," Arroyan said simply, opening the book he held in his hands to the place where he had stopped last. Jareth sighed and pressed his fingers to his eyes in a gesture of frustration that had become commonplace in the past months.

"You do realize, do you not," he asked in a frustrated, muffled voice, "that the Underground will rip itself apart if the ancient laws are not appeased?"

Arroyan's eyes did not leave the page.

"If you would simply consent to my proposal then the fullness of the Underground would not fall into question, milord," he said, with the air of a parent trying to rid itself of an obnoxious child.

Jareth stared at him with an expression that bordered on unbridled rage and the tail end of patience worn thin.

"Arroyan." The tone of the King's voice having reached a dangerously quiet level, the man looked up, his air no longer impudent, but rather serious, and met Jareth's gaze openly. "I will not call her a second time," Jareth said in a low growl.

"Then you doom the Underground, sire, for I will not consent to another," Arroyan replied evenly. He stood and tucked his book under his arm, his eyes meeting Jareth's once more. Bowing briefly to his King, Arroyan strode to the door, leaving the study with barely more than a whisper of his clothing. Jareth stared at the place where his counterpart had been and then reached for his goblet once more, swallowing more of the burning condolence he had poured himself. Again, his mind drifted to the first High King and he sighed, walking to the large mahogany desk that sat to one side of his study. Seating himself, he set his goblet down and paused a moment to lean back in the chair and close his weary eyes.

"Folly, sire," he murmured to the silence, "folly. He will never consent to my taking a woman of the court and I will not, I _cannot_ choose her." His eyes opened and he stared fixedly at a ladybug that had landed on a windowsill across from him as memories played through his head. He let his mind wander for a few minutes, delighting in the weightlessness that enshrouded him when his mind was on her. The ladybug, however, would not endure his reverie and flew off, breaking the hypnosis he had enjoyed. Shaking his head, he let go of a deep breath and pulled a giant book towards him, opening it to his last stopping point and resuming his search for a loophole. Scanning the page, briefly, he at last came to his marker and began reading through the history of his people, praying for some form of enlightenment:

_The Underground was formed by Deos in the middle days of the Earth. In its origin, four clans that co-existed peacefully in the valley between the Unlivay Mountains had populated the Underground. The bloodlines of the Illorthian, Melruvian, Dinéh Villan, and Redevian clans ran strong and the Fae, as they would come to be known, first cultivated their powers and the values of their society there. For centuries, the clans existed happily together, sharing in the joys of marriages, births, and the addition of new powers to the assortment that the first beings had possessed and passed down. However, as the clans grew in number and began to spread throughout the surrounding terrains, wars sprouted at every turn. Two males contested for the same bride, the same plot of land; anything that they saw as rightfully theirs and their feuds carried on down through their ancestry._

_Despite their best efforts, the eldest of each clan, who alone remained peaceful, could not stem the fighting, but resolved to curb it to the best of their abilities. Embarking on a pilgrimage to the summit of the Unlivay Mountains, they fasted and prayed that Deos would guide their people to peace. _

_Three days passed before the elder of the Melruvian Clan, Kade, awoke in the night to a vision of the first King of the Underground. After waking his companions, he shared his dream with them and when the others had consented to a plan, the pilgrims resolved to return to the Valley the next morning._

_They arrived in the Valley in time to watch the horizon turn orange with fire. Rushing to their families, they called the Clans together and explained the decision that Deos had handed them. _

"_Upon the mountain, we encamped to await the answer from Our Lord," Kade began. "Three days and three nights we waited, and on the third night, I was woken from my sleep with a vision that filled me with such joy as to warm the earth complete._

"_In the midst of the wars that have besieged our people, one warrior stood apart from the rest. He did not fight for his own justification, but rather defended those who had fallen victim to the pride of others. Again and again, he unsheathed his sword for the innocent and defended them as if they were his own blood. By day, he braved the fires, the hails of arrows, and the assaults of full armies to secure safety, and by night, he preached peace to those who would hear him. _

_"My eyes shut and opened, and when next I looked, I beheld the same man kneeling before the priests of Deos, for he had been selected from many to govern the people of the Underground as High King. Even as the High Priest placed the crown upon his head, his eyes betrayed that he thought himself unfit for the honor bestowed upon him. He accepted his place and ruled the country with dignity and love, returning our people to the peace they had abandoned so wantonly." _

_As Kade finished his tale, cries began to ring out from the throng of people before him, for all wished to know the identity of their king; the one who would lead them away from the suffering they bore. Kade, having done his part in this revelation, seated himself and Darrick, the Dinéh Villam elder, rose to speak to the people gathered. _

_"Though our reluctant King hides in shadow, we call him forth now. Hail to the king, Liam Redevia!" _

_The crowd turned to see the man, who stood at the back of the meeting hall, silent and serious. All knew him to be an upright and honest man and none were surprised as he was born forth to the elders, but upon his face was written Kade's prophecy: he did not believe himself worthy. Nevertheless, in the months following, Liam became High King of the Underground and completed the prophecy, restoring peace to the Underground and ruling justly, with a firm, but loving, hand. _

_As months passed, however, the demands of his duties wore upon the King, and though he regularly sought absolution from the Priests of Deos, he felt himself unable to correctly govern his people. Removing himself from his duties for a day, he prayed and fasted, and came to the resolution that he was not fit to rule alone. Thus, he sought and found a wife in Valdime Illorthian. As their bond was completed through the rites of matrimony, the King found his duties less burdensome, and set forth the decree that the Underground should have one King and one Queen at all times; for the Queen understood her husband, and the King understood his people, and together they would ensure the prosperity of the land. By Deos, Liam's words became the law and the Underground upheld the law, so that it would not succumb to the final test and destroy itself. So it is written, so it is kept. _

Jareth closed the book and threw it down upon his desk, knocking things askew. He reached for his goblet and drained it in one mouthful before standing and pacing the room. It followed, by the law of the land, that the decision to marry was _his_ and did not hinge upon Arroyan's consent, but he knew better and that was what kept him locked in this room day after day, pouring over books, and searching for any way he could override Arroyan's place and make his own choice. Each day yielded the same results: nothing.

What no book in the castle would tell was that as Liam's power returned with marriage, he found an overabundance of it and felt he could not control it, alone. Consulting the elders and the priests of Deos, he had sought a way to divide the powers that had come with his newfound totality, so that neither he, nor his descendants could be corrupted by it. The answer that came was both complex and hazardous, though it seemed the simplest explanation in history.

The council of elders and priests resolved that instead of trying to dominate his power or break it apart, he should unite with it, and give it clout of its own. This, they told him, would further aid him in his duties, for as well as he knew the people, the power of Deos, which flowed through him, knew them better, and would make the decisions that he could never make come to with his limited knowledge of the universe. Logic, which had always been the greatest influence upon Liam, dictated that he follow their advice and he readily prepared himself to do so.

For 12 hours, Liam lay prostrate upon the floor of the Temple of Deos and consulted with the Power, making peace with it, and coming to agreement on what should be done with the kingdom. The council watched in fear as their King lay, as if dead, upon the floor, but as the 12th hour ended and the bells tolled, he arose with such a scream as to shake the kingdom. At the same moment his scream began, there came a rumbling and tearing noise from the earth that was silenced only when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the land was covered in night.

When daylight dawned, the people of the Underground awoke and began their daily activities without pause to consider the previous night's events. At midday, as the market place teemed with life, a farmer barreled through the throng on horseback, eager to see the King and make a report. Curious, the subjects of the Underground flocked to the palace to seek out their King's reaction to whatever news this farmer would bring him.

As the farmer knelt before the King and Queen, he spoke in gasping breaths of what he had seen.

"We…awoke from our slumber this morning…and set to work as…as usual, your majesties." He glanced up and Liam, who bore a slight smiled nodded for him to continue. The farmer nodded and swallowed heavily. "As…as my eldest and I went to the eastern fields to begin the harvest, we found…a…a terrible sight before us: where the fertile lands of the Gateways once sat, there had become a terrible desert. Sand stretched in every direction and in the midst of it, there had been erected a great Labyrinth. At the center of the Labyrinth there sat a castle." The farmer looked up at the two monarchs again, his face creased with worry. "My King, I fear a new power in our land. One that would seek to overthrow you."

There was silence in the chamber for a moment and then the King's soft laugh rippled out over those gathered and he rose, making his way down to the farmer and offering his hand. The farmer stared at it for a moment and then allowed the King to pull him to his feet as their eyes met. Liam Redevia said nothing, but merely smiled at the farmer and then ordered that he be given food, drink, and a place to sit. The accommodations were seen to while the King paced a small square of the floor before looking up to his people.

"I have been silent too long. Last evening, I sought a way to fully understand you, my people, and the tasks that I must complete, to see to the survival of our lands. Deos has given me an unimaginable power and I, His humble servant, am barely fit to possess it." Briefly, he described the events that had taken place while he lay in the Temple of Deos. He told of how he had approached the power timidly at first, as one would approach a wild beast that could strike at any moment. He described the questions the power had asked him and how he had finally gained its trust by allowing the force to brand his right arm. At this point, he revealed his arm to the people, who gasped and began muttering amongst themselves at the sight of the snaking vine that twisted its way around his bicep, quite naturally.

"As the force began to trust me, we began to speak of the Kingdom, of Deos' plans for us all, and what was to be done. The power felt that it could not properly rule through a mouthpiece such as I, because we are so very different in our natures. Humbly submitting itself to me, the power asked that I grant it a form suitable to our lands so that it might represent itself." Another murmur ran through the crowd as the King paused and smiled. "I have delayed this moment long enough."

Liam strode from the room and there was speaking and laughter heard, but before long, he returned with a man at his side. The women of the court gasped and set to whispering at once, for the King's companion was as handsome as the king himself, though his appearance differed slightly. Where Liam had blond hair, this man had black, and where Liam's eyes were a gentle blue, the other's were a shocking green. However, in their faces, it was evident that they were one in the same in mind and temperament.

"This," said Liam, with the sound of a proud father, "is Antione." The chamber, which had been so busy with the buzz of talking, fell quiet instantly and it was several moments before one of the elders stepped forward.

"What is your purpose, exactly, sir?" Antione turned to him smoothly and regarded him for a moment before inclining his head in recognition of the authority of the man before him.

"To the southeast, as this good farmer has informed you, my lord, there has arisen a Labyrinth. Though I look to be one of your noble race, I am in fact, the manifestation of that structure." The hall began buzzing with excited whispers again, but Antione barely seemed to hear them. "When my King completed the covenant between us, a rift was created in the Gateways because of the great shifting of power. Where once before your lands were guarded with strong magic, there is now an opening. You are not the only ones who may enter the realms at whim, any longer." His voice grew louder at the last statement, as he was no longer addressing solely the elder before him. The buzzing in the hall grew louder and he smiled at their worried looks, his expression a mirror image of Liam's own smirk.

"Deos would not forsake you so easily," he said in a smooth, soothing voice. The buzzing died away again and all eyes fell on him once more. "Though the Gateways are open, there has been set an obstacle for those who would wish to enter your lands to overcome." He smiled again. "The Labyrinth. To many of you, it seems just a child's maze, but it holds great strength and only those worthy of surviving the tests I have implemented will pass through it."

Though Antione's words proved little comfort to those gathered, the weeks that followed proved his words like gold in fire. At first the beings who came had stumbled through accidentally, and none of them even dared to enter the Labyrinth. But soon the tales of the Labyrinth spread and visitors flocked to the Underground to test their mettle against the legendary structure. Their trickery had brought them to the center of the Labyrinth, but they would become so enchanted with the magic inside of it that they became stupid and reverted to childish behavior. Only those who voluntarily entered the Labyrinth were retained and as their numbers grew, Deos saw fit to transform them to a more suitable race: Goblins.

With each new King, the Union Ceremony took place, and within 24 hours of their lying prostrate upon the Temple floor, the Court would announce the new advisor to the King and present him to the gathered assembly. Jareth had been no different.

_ And now,_ he thought, grimly, _I'm stuck with the bastard._

Jareth sighed as he sank into the chair that Arroyan had occupied not five minutes ago and stared into the fire for a moment, before conjuring a crystal to his fingertips. Over the past few months, he often found himself gazing at Sarah as she slept, or worked, or studied, without regard to the time he wasted or the people he ignored. It was an all consuming obsession, one he wished he could give up, but found no remedy for.

"I cannot call you again," he murmured to her, as she lay curled on her side, bathed in the moonlight streaming in her window. "For both our sakes."

Another flick of his wrist and she was gone, again.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**First fic in a while. Lemme know what you think.**  
**Thanks!**

**Regina**


	2. The Brightest Hour Of My Darkest Day

"_We want more than this world has to offer.  
We want more than this world has to offer.  
We want more than the wars of our fathers,  
And everything inside _**screams**_ for second life._"

Whoever was signing was making a pretty good point, Sarah thought as she dragged herself back from the dream she'd been floating around in. As her eyes soon told her, it was not a some_one_ who was singing, but a some_thing_. Her alarm clock, to be exact. The one she'd purchased so that she wouldn't have to listen to that God-awful beeping noise every time she had to get up.

Dragging a heavy arm out from beneath the warmth of her comforter, she switched the alarm clock off and then fell back onto the bed with little grace. Being a bartender had its perks: she made her own hours, earned a bunch of money, didn't have to ever sell herself short, and she met some truly amazing people. But what killed her was that she often had to wake up at some strange hour (like 6 pm) to get ready for work. As she threw the covers off of her and shivered in the cold air of her bedroom, she smirked and silently thanked whoever was watching out for her for dragging most of the people she had depended upon out of her life. People didn't like losing touch and if there was one thing Sarah Williams excelled at, it was keeping her distance.

Toby was five years old today, so the letter from Karen and her father told her. His beaming face stood out amongst the pictures on her bureau and she smirked down at him as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun.

"Happy birthday, short stuff." She'd sent him the new BMX bike he'd wanted. He'd just mastered the art of staying up on two wheels, but she knew he had greatness inside of him that was waiting to be tapped. Karen would no doubt balk and protest, but she hoped that her dad still had the drive in him to let Toby loose every now and then. She could still remember the way he'd fought for her when Karen had tried to stomp out the embers of a life away from home.

-

"A bar is no place for a young lady to earn a living. She _says_ she'll bartend, but honestly Mark, what do you _really_ think she's going there to do?" Karen asked shrilly, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Tension between Sarah and Karen had risen after her return from the Underground instead of declining with maturity, but the journey had taught Sarah of her own resilience. Since that night, she'd taken every opportunity to show it off, especially to Karen.

"Bartend." Mark crossed his arms over his chest, as he stood defiantly behind Sarah. "Frankly, Karen, the only thing I can conclude from your apparent expertise in this matter, is that the lifestyle you think Sarah is headed for was familiar to you at one time." Sarah had tried to stifle the laugh that was rising in her throat, but it headed straight up her nose and came out as a snort instead. Karen's eyes widened and then shrunk to slits in her face.

"Mark Williams, you are, without a doubt, the most rude, incorrigible, loathsome man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting!" Karen looked more like Toby than ever in that moment – he obviously got his temper tantrums from his mother. Mark merely shrugged.

"One that you married, fully sober, I might remind you. And Sarah's going to New York. And if she bartends there, that's her business. But next time you get the bright idea to suggest my daughter wants to be a hooker, do us all a favor and leave your past out of the conversation." Mark picked up Sarah's suitcase and slung an arm around her shoulder, steering her out the door and to the car without a backwards glance or another word to Karen.

-

Sarah yanked herself back to the present and shook her head as she grabbed a towel from the linen's closet in the hall and headed for the bathroom. Within twenty minutes, she was clean and drying herself off in a fogged over bathroom. Using a hand towel to wipe off the mirror, she stared at her reflection and smiled for a moment. At twenty-two, she was happy, healthy, better off than most of the people her age in the city, and on her way to a degree, if she played everything right and attended her classes on a regular basis.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she padded back into her bedroom and flipped on the lights, glancing briefly at the photos of people she'd given up keeping in touch with via the normal means that littered her bureau top. There was Karen and her father, whom she kept in touch with by handwritten letters she wrote at work when she had a little bit of down time. There was Toby, who, even if he could remember her, didn't know how to write yet. Lauren and Megan she caught up with by scrawling messages on the wall of the third stall, in the ladies' bathroom, on the second floor of Kent Dining Hall. And then there were the guys who littered her bureau. She perused their faces as she pulled an outfit out of the bureau. There was Nick who'd turned out to be dating four other women, but still swung by the bar every now and then to see how life was treating her and if he could persuade her to spend a night at his place. Kevin had been a sweet guy…too sweet, in fact. He'd cried the first time she'd kissed him. Of course, it was a long, lingering kiss, but there were lines of manliness and he'd crossed about 20 with that. Bill was too much of a jock. Craig was too artsy. Neil had a thing for feet. Chris was a pig. Dave didn't have the brains to talk to a parakeet. The list went on.

Some people thought she was a man-eater, but she didn't intend to be. She knew what she wanted in a man. She'd found it once. And promptly lost it. Since then, there hadn't been much competition. All the men that could've made her forget about _him_ were either gay or taken and the rest of the crowd could never live up to her standards. She wasn't willing to compromise and she certainly wasn't settling. If worse came to worse, she'd just live out her life alone with a few friends. There were worse things.

She slipped her jeans on and zipped them before looking into the mirror above her bureau. Her black tank top covered her reasonably well and the white blouse added an extra bit of oomph to the contrast between her pale skin and her dark locks. The flares she wore were form fitting but not too fitting. She may live in a big city where skin was in, but Sarah was from a small town in rural Connecticut, where skin was decidedly out. To her credit, sticking with her hometown values had served her well. Men didn't come on as strong if they couldn't see as much. Being a bartender, she didn't need any more grabbing hands than she already had, though she got plenty of looks. The men in the city were fairly intuitive though: they could spot someone better than them from miles away, and they usually got the message to steer clear. With that thought, Sarah nodded at her reflection and pulled on a suede jacket before turning out the lights and leaving her apartment.

The street greeted her noisily and she took the stairs calmly, making her way to the curb to hail a taxi. Excluding her baseball values, everything in Sarah's life screamed that she belonged in Manhattan. Her job was amazing - she had contacts she never could've dreamed of, her apartment had been featured in magazines for her decorating style, and she was building a reputation that promised excellence for high rollers and important people. All in all, life was decidedly looking up.

---

Jareth's was looking down. Still. He'd spent seven hours by his mother's bedside and as he watched, the light had faded from her eyes and the color from her skin, little by little.

She was dying. Iron poisoning was the culprit and though the healers were the most advanced in all the Underground, they could find no cure for his mother's ailment. Jareth had sworn up and down that the instant he found the person or persons responsible for the crime, he would flay them within an inch of their life, submerge them in the Bog of Eternal Stench, and then leave them atop the summit of the Unlivay Mountains to die. To his credit, his subjects believed his threats so much that there had not been a whisper of responsibility in the entire Kingdom.

"Jareth." His name called him out of his vengeful reverie and he looked to the doorway of the room where his father stood, eyes tired, a distinct air of defeat radiating from him. Where Jareth was anger and spite, his father was patience and resignation. The King had accepted that his wife might be taken from him early, long ago.

Armand Redevia had fallen in love with his wife, Delia, when she had crossed through the Gateways to the Underground. He had found her sitting upon the sand dunes beyond the Labyrinth, tracing symbols in the sand; ancient symbols that spoke of love and destiny and the path to redemption. They were the symbols of the Kings, and were known only by those destined to rule the Underground, yet here sat a mortal, carving them into the sand with a stick. Intrigued at her knowledge of the royal script, he had spoken with her and learned of her past.

In the mortal realm, she was the daughter of a salesman. Disgusted with the way in which her father conducted business, she had run away from home. With no place to turn and half of her county searching for her in earnest, she had wished herself to a place where she could find peace and refuge from her own life. As per the original protections set upon the Underground, she found herself facing the ominous structure of the Labyrinth. Since she had come alone, of her own choice, she was greeted by no one - merely the winds that called her towards the lurking edifice, as she told it. Though she had learned quickly, in her own world, to distrust everything and everyone she felt at ease here and the Labyrinth had seemed to guide her through the twists and turns it held, till she reached the opposite side. There she had sat down and begun drawing in the sand, and there she remained until Armand, sensing that someone had completed the Labyrinth, happened upon her.

Upon first hearing her voice, Armand had fallen in love, and was glad that as High King he could not ignore her request for protection. But there were steps to be taken to make her residence permanent, and his heart told him plainly that if he let her reside in his Kingdom, unattached to him, the world would end, violently. He decided then and there that he would not spend a day more than necessary apart from the mortal he had fallen in love with, and would wed her at the first available moment.

The Estrelian Council, the fiercest assembly of power in the Underground, had to be consulted in the matter of mortals that hoped to remain in the Underground. The assembly of elders (which had been formed as an advisory council to the king and had evolved into an authority on matters that superceded the King's judgment) was usually lenient in regards to mortals who wished to escape their lives or who had been banished from their lands unjustly, but Armand's plan to wed this mortal for love was unheard of. No Fae had ever given up the immortality that they possessed to become mortal and the Council forbade his attempt on the grounds that the Kingdom could not be forsaken, no matter how noble the cause. Armand, in a brave attempt to skirt defeat, sought a new plan and approached the Council with a proposal so radical the Underground nearly fell apart.

The High King suggested that since he could not let her go (for his Advisor plainly told him that she was to be his queen) and he could not become mortal himself, that she be granted immortality. The suggestion caused a stirring in the Underground so great that it seemed as if the wars of old had sprang up again, ready to consume the land in division for a second time. The Council was torn in two, half siding with Armand, and half decrying his idea as ludicrous and headstrong to a fault. After two solid weeks of debate, threats, and unrest that shook the Heavens and Earth, however, the Council was forced to grant his wish on the grounds that Julian, the King's Advisor, would use the power and influence he possessed to thwart any efforts to deny the request.

Armand, in the confidence he shared with Julian, had told his Advisor that he felt the efforts he leant given to his cause were not enough to sway the Council. Julian, ever the servant, did his best to allay the King's fears while his indignation and knowledge burned brightly beneath his cool exterior. He knew the will of the Underground, knew that Armand was nothing without Delia, and was ready to upset the balance that had governed the land for more than six centuries if it meant his King would be whole.

"By your leave, sire," he said calmly, "I will appear before the Council tomorrow, for we cannot allow our Queen to live apart from you."

The following day, just as he had said, Julian appeared before the Council. The elders were all shocked to see Julian, who was usually the epitome of kindness, decorum, and gentility, in such an uproar. He barely allowed the traditional formalities to pass before he assumed the speaking place upon the floor before them and looked up to the panel with anger in his eyes.

"My lords, I come before you today not with a request, for the time of pleading is past, but with a demand." The elders sat in shocked silence as Julian's voice rang out in the hall. "My King has found his match - The Lady Delia, whom you have granted a place in the kingdom. All is well in their eyes, but you, my distinguished lords, have put a stop to the proceedings that would allow them to remain together for as long as Deos has written!" Julian's eyes burned with fury and his voice rose to a dangerous level. "You wish to put the Underground in danger by denying the right of a King to claim forever his bride, merely because of her race? Have you fallen so greatly, my lords, that you forget we were once nearly divided forever by the same petty quarrel? Perhaps it is your design to see the Underground ruined, but before Deos himself, I will not let this union fall away merely because of the origin of my Queen. Armand has found love – true love, and his choice is final. You, my lords, are the only ones standing between the prosperity or damnation of the Underground. And the choice is yours."

Julian had not waited for an answer from the Council and had left as the hall filled with the hum of chatter from the gathered court. The elders, some shocked, some angered, but most humbled, retired to closed discussion for the day, and upon the following morning called the King before them to convey their decision: Delia would become the first mortal made Fae and as soon as they were able, the Queen of the Underground.

In the weeks that followed, Delia was prepared for the step from mortality to immortality and in her studies of the land learned what her duties and the title of queen meant to the Underground. When at last the day came for her to assume the life of the immortals, the entire Kingdom seemed to tremble with nervousness. Such a feat had never been attempted. But after hours in the Temple of Deos, the Council emerged with the news that the change had taken place perfectly and Delia was resting. When she was fully recovered, the King wed Delia and her coronation followed soon after.

It would not be until her first son, Jareth, was born that the King and Queen would learn the truth of Delia's condition. The change had not taken place so seamlessly as they had thought, and the healers present at Jareth's birth gave the monarchs the unfortunate news that though Delia possessed all the powers, gifts, and graces of a true immortal, she remained one half mortal. She would live forever, without sickness or age, provided that she never came in direct contact with iron, which was fatal to any Fae, but more so to the Queen, given her weakness.

Up until a month prior, Delia had lived quite happily with her two sons, Jareth and Astonsius, and her husband. She enjoyed her children's company, loved the Underground with her whole heart, and desired to never be separated from the King. But one evening, she had been overcome with a fever that left her in a state of near psychosis and on the brink of death. The healers had informed her family that she had somehow come in contact with a large amount of iron and was on the road to a slow death. It would be slow and painful and, given that she was half mortal, there was nothing they could do except to make her comfortable for her last days.

That had been three and a half weeks ago, and on latest report, the healers did not expect the Queen to last much longer. The Kingdom held its breath each time the hour tolled, waiting to hear the lamentations begin. And every hour Jareth prayed harder than before that by some miracle his mother would survive this ordeal and return to her bright, vibrant self. Each hour, Deos left his prayers unanswered.

Rising, Jareth crossed to his father and the two stepped out into the hallway beyond his mother's sanctuary. He knew from the expression that the King wore what would come next. He had seen it so many times before, but his father had always deigned to let the present circumstances outweigh the need to discuss the Underground's future. Apparently they had passed the point of no return. He meant to discuss it now.

"I know this is an inopportune time, Jareth, but I feel we have waited long enough, as it is. You _must_ – "

"I know." Jareth's voice was quiet and resigned. A week had passed since his last confrontation with Arroyan and he had not stopped thinking about his Advisor's proposition.

"Have you come to a decision, then?" Armand had never pried into either of his son's affairs, which left their relationships in a jovial complacency that no one dared disturb, but now he dug for information; his wife lay dying and until he sought resolution to the Underground's problems, Julian would not give him leave to stay by her side.

"Arroyan and I have arrived at an…impasse," Jareth conceded quietly, staring out a window sullenly. "He has made impossible demands and refuses to listen to logic." He set his jaw rigidly and shook his mane of hair with a melancholy smirk. "He has rejected every single courtier in the Underground and instead demands that I seek the hand of a mortal who defeated the Labyrinth ages ago. One I do not wish…one I _cannot_ call to me." He looked up at his father's aged eyes, hoping to see sympathy there. Instead, he found tears gathered at the corners of the man's gaze.

"I believe, in time, you will see how easily calling her will become." His father rested a hand on his shoulder and surveyed his son with pride. "Consider your pride Jareth. And consider your heart. They seem to be the two greatest obstacles to our line. Perhaps that is where your answer will rest, as well."

Jareth nodded somberly and sighed, straightening himself as his father beckoned him to follow to his mother's side once more. As he moved to comply with his father's wishes, a small sphere appeared in the air before him, barely there and iridescent. Recognizing it immediately, Jareth sighed wearily and his father turned to him, glancing briefly at the now solid crystal before looking back to his son.

"The Labyrinth never sleeps." He smiled sadly and nodded as Jareth's hand closed around the orb. "Waste no unnecessary time. I fear there is not long left." With that, Armand disappeared into the darkness of his wife's sanctuary and Jareth strode down the hall angrily, his form fading into nothing with each step

---

Sarah placed the tumbler full of Scotch down on the counter and accepted the ten from the man with a smile and a wave. The music at the club was loud and she grinned and sang along with the song as she danced around, taking orders and pouring alcohol. She was up to three offers to dinner and two proposals of "getting out of here" so she made a mental note that the tank top was, perhaps, not the best idea.

She liked the club out of most of the spots she worked. It was where she had the most fun, where she met the most people, and, most importantly, where she made the most money. She was glad she'd taken that course in Entertainment Tending. The ability to toss a tumbler into the air, catch it behind your back, and pour whiskey into it over your shoulder kept the cash coming. Which was how she was putting herself through college, managing to keep her amazing apartment, and buying virtually whatever she wanted or needed.

At a lull in the dancing, she took her break and slipped out back with a glass of White Cranberry Peach juice and a Turkey Club. The drums still beat ferociously, but she could hear reasonably well again and the night air was cool – not cold like it had been and not too hot either, like it usually was because of the heat the kitchen generated. It was just right. She leaned her head back against the wall of the club, closing her eyes as she chewed slowly, breathing in the scents she'd grown to love. The club smelled of jasmine and lemongrass and it wafted out to meet the smell of fruit that was being sold on the corner that had pollinated with alstromeria from the shop across the street and the magic that came from the Und-

Sarah's eye snapped open and she sat bolt upright, looking around. As quickly as it had come, the smell was gone again, leaving her with nothing but a racing heart and a half eaten Turkey Club. Suddenly her appetite was gone and her mouth parched as she searched the alley and the street for any sign of life other than the New Yorkers that usually milled around the club at night. But there was nothing.

Swallowing the bite of sandwich that remained in her mouth, she sat back and chugged the glass of juice quickly, before standing and heading back inside. She was imagining the smells. The smells and the way they made every fiber of her being come alive in a way that no tip or Broadway musical or Red Sox/Yankees game could. Yes, all those things were in her head. Because what had happened had concluded when she'd won Toby back. Jareth had no power over her. None at all. She'd seen neither hide nor hair of him since that terrible night, six years ago and that was the way she wanted it to stay.

She placed her glass in the dishwasher and left the club sandwich on a plate in the kitchen as she headed out front again, plastering a smile on her face. She hadn't been sleeping well and her dreams seemed to revolve around the past lately, which was probably why all this was coming up now. She was just tired. It wasn't a good lie, it wasn't even a mediocre lie, but it would do her for now. She had to focus on the drinks as the requests came in, otherwise the Sean Paul wannabe on her right would flip out and shank the Nelly look-a-like on her left for taking his Whiskey Sour. Sarah glanced at the clock as she began measuring out the Jameson. An hour to closing time.

---

Jareth felt even more tired as he watched the young man walking back towards the Gateway, tears streaming down his face as he glanced over his shoulder again. Another child, another 13 hours, another Goblin to present to the Estrelian Council. Sighing, he raked a hand through his blond mane and turned towards the Labyrinth. Children were becoming less and less careful with their charges and it made for awful memory lapses when he had to ride herd over their forays into Arroyan's masterpiece. He'd found himself thinking of Sarah no less than four times while Jason (at least he thought the boy's name was Jason…for all he'd paid attention, the young man could've introduced himself as Beelzebub) ran hither, thither, and yon through the Labyrinth, got stuck in Oubliettes, and generally messed up any chance he had of winning his younger sister back. He'd welcomed the 13th hour's chime as usual, but this time he felt himself a little reluctant to go and escort the young man out of the maze. The feeling passed quickly as he recalled his mother's situation, and by the time Jason had finished blubbering over second chances and how his parents were going to kill him, Jareth's mind was entirely focused on getting back to his mother's side.

He lifted his head and focused on the bricks of the Labyrinth's wall while he thought of the place he would like to be: the hallway outside his mother's room. As he walked, he once again vanished from one place and reappeared in the other, his pace increasing as he became closer and closer to her room. Something inside him seemed to stretch like taffy, urging him to move faster before the strand snapped. He listened to the instinct and increased his pace, but before he reached the doorway, the feeling snapped and he stumbled.

Outside the castle, the bells tolled the hour and once more the Kingdom listened intently. Softly at first, but growing louder, the wind blew a melody to its people, a voice that could be heard in every corner of the Underground. A lamentation.

The Queen was dead.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hey kids...sorry about the delay in the second chapter. I don't know what schedule I'll be on for this, but I'll try to stay consistent.  
This last chapter practically wrote itself...after a long pause.  
Anyway...reviews make me feel like someone's reading this, so...review your little hearts out. **

**Thanks,  
Regina  
**


	3. Was It All Too Much? Or Just Not Enough?

The young lady curtsied sweetly and turned to leave the hall, her cheeks a bright crimson. Jareth turned to survey Arroyan with incredulity. Arroyan didn't say anything as he looked over at his King, one eyebrow cocked.

"Pray tell, Arroyan, what was your objection, this time?" Jareth's voice dripped with sarcasm, but Arroyan had heard much worse in his time with the King. They were both tired of searching, tired of disagreeing, and he knew they were both wishing that Jareth could simply rule by himself.

"The same as it was for the last two hundred courtiers, sire." He reached for the goblet of wine that waited on the table for him and took a generous mouthful before setting it down again. "You know as well as I that there is only one proper choice for Queen, by your rule. You may call as many young women to this hall as you'd like, but I cannot consent to any but one."

Jareth's head fell forward as he pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently, hoping to stem the headache that was brewing within him. For two days, he and Arroyan had sat in this very hall as all the courtiers of the Kingdom were paraded before him. For the most part the women were lovely, charming, graceful, and nothing like Sarah. She dominated his thoughts in a way she never had before as he inspected each woman and conversed with her briefly before Arroyan dismissed her harshly.

The rejections had started out politely, with subtle headshakes or a quiet no and an apology. As the numbers dwindled and the hours progressed, however, Arroyan had little patience for niceties and had simply dismissed them without bothering to look up from the book he had procured. None of them were Sarah so none of them were worthy of the crown.

He could feel Arroyan watching him and did not move to speak as his counterpart engaged him in conversation.

"I know you are adverse to the idea, sire, but for the love of the Underground and all that is good within it, allow me to go to her and plead our case. You will be free to occupy yourself as you see fit and I will be able to procure an answer to our predicament."

"To what purpose, Arroyan?" Jareth's normally sharp voice was tired. "Even if she deigns to listen, she is headstrong and will not consent to living away from the life she feels she is _destined_ to lead." His voice took on a hard edge for a moment. "You may recall that I offered her the world on a platter once before."

"She was a child, Jareth." The King sneered and shook his head unrepentantly.

"In body, perhaps, but her mind has always been mature."

"Which is far more than can be said of you, my lord." Jareth looked slowly around at the young man sitting next to him as his royal pedigree flared up within him.

"Mark your words, sir. You forget your place." Arroyan looked at him evenly, his eyes cold.

"I'd wager you've reversed our positions, Jareth." Keeping his mask in place, Jareth marveled at the way his name sounded coming off Arroyan's tongue like a vulgarity. "You seem to forget that I have a large role to play in the survival of this kingdom. The weight of this decision rests equally on our shoulders and while I have done all I can to convey to you the actuality of our situation, you have shirked the duty you know must be done." Jareth's mask never wavered and he waited for Arroyan to go on. The second sighed wearily as he stood, lifting his goblet of wine to his lips. "The pain you suffered at her hand was acute, I saw it. But the pain you will suffer, should you allow the Underground to fall will never subside and you will be forced to watch as _all_ that you hold dear dies away and leaves you." This seemed to strike a chord with Jareth – his fist clenched involuntarily. Arroyan replaced the goblet on the table, after draining it, and reached for his coat, which hung over the back of the chair he had been occupying moments before. "I go to her now, with or without your consent, though I should be much happier to go with it."

Jareth's mind was ablaze with the words that Arroyan had allowed to pass through his lips and he contemplated them as his counterpart waited. Arroyan was bound and determined to bring Sarah back into his life. He understood it, body and soul, but the reality that, with her or without her, his life would become severely more painful than it had been for the past six years still troubled him. Jareth looked up at Arroyan and sighed wearily.

"Go with my blessing, but do not force her to return." Arroyan had already started to turn away and looked back at the tender note in Jareth's voice. "I will not have her here against her will." Nodding respectfully, Arroyan strode down the length of the hall and into the foyer beyond, fading with each step until he had vanished completely. Jareth reached for his own goblet and drank what was left of his wine before setting the vessel back down and resting his chin against his hand. His world was about to turn itself directly upside down, but he had no idea how quickly.

--

Sarah stepped out of the York building and pulled her sunglasses down from her head as she walked headlong into the sunlight. She liked the way the sun felt beating down on her and more to the point, the way it felt when people turned to stare as she walked past. Since her return from the Labyrinth, she'd found that her confidence had doubled and her taste for the spotlight had grown. She knew people were looking, and she enjoyed her moment in the sun before letting it pass. Some people let their looks go to their head, but Sarah was grounded and she knew that hard work was what kept her going, not some superfluous fad that she chose to accept or ignore. She was doing every Woman's Studies professor on campus proud.

The sunlight that poured in the windows had turned her apartment a warmed honey color. She smiled to herself and closed the front door with her foot, the bag of groceries she had picked up on her way home balanced on one hip, her mail in her hand. The pale peach colored walls contrasted nicely with the dark wood trim and the dark brown furniture accented the contrast with professional style that she was proud to call her own. She'd known exactly what she'd wanted to do with the place the moment she'd laid eyes on it. With a little ingenuity and her mother's eye for sales, she'd managed to work everything out and had created the apartment of her dreams. Granted, she was alone most of the time, but when she threw parties, they went off with a bang that could be heard from one end of the island to the next.

When she entered the kitchen, she set her bag and her mail down on the counter and pressed play on her answering machine while she put her groceries away. There were four messages. She listened to them as she placed Romaine lettuce in the crisper and a jar of peanut butter in the cabinet.

"Hey Sarah, its Chris. Just wanted to know if you could cover my shift on Monday night. I uh…I met this girl. She's amazing. You'd love her. Anyway. We're going away for the weekend and we won't get back till late Monday night. I promise I've got your back any night you want after that. Thanks!" The click signaled the end of the message and she shook her head as she put a loaf of bread away on its shelf and reached for the box of Lucky Charms. Chris was always meeting amazing women. Usually they just ended up being one-night-stands, but he'd had a few weekend girls before as well. She gave it a week before he came to work fuming about how women sucked. The machine beeped again and she listened as a new voice came over the speaker.

"Sarah it's Dad. Just checking in. I know you're not big on the phone, but I thought I'd call anyway. Toby loves his bike. Karen refuses to let him learn to ride stunts still, but I think she'll come around." Her dad chuckled softly and she smiled as she put away the last of the groceries and began folding the bag up to store it away. "Well, that was pretty much it. You know I love you. Take care honey." The machine clicked again and she straightened up from putting the bag under the sink and leaned against the counter for the third message.

"Sar, it's Nick. Look…I don't really know how to say this…I uh…I…I miss you. The other girls don't hold a candle to you. I know I screwed up bad and everything, Sar, but I want you back. I _need_ you back, Sarah. Call me soon." She rolled her eyes and laughed aloud as the machine cycled through the next message. It was a hang up. She crossed the kitchen towards the hallway and held down the small red button on her machine. Two seconds later, a red zero appeared where a glowing four once shone. Smiling at her handiwork, Sarah grabbed the small stack of mail and left the kitchen for the living room.

She loved the living room. It was decorated to suit her tastes, which was a plus, but the real magic was the way it was lit. Because of a wall across the street that obstructed the sun's angle to her house, the sun always hit it just right, so that she wasn't ever blinded by the light, but she wasn't in shadows all the time, either. Crossing the room to her desk, she tossed a few bills down and opened the more interesting pieces of mail that offered her free trials of shampoo and Post-It Notes. The last letter was from an old friend who was thinking of coming to the city and wanted to meet up with her again. Excited by the prospect of seeing Lydia again, she picked up her pad of stationery and a pen and turned around to park herself on the couch, in the sun, and write a response. But as she turned, she found that her plans would have to wait. Lydia was coming in a few weeks, but the man standing in her living room was here, now. First come, first serve.

Sarah screamed, tossing Lydia's letter and her stationery away from her as she started at the sight of the stranger. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed that she was shrieking and brandishing a ballpoint pen at him menacingly, as it had been the only thing she'd been able to hang onto in her terror. Sarah took two big steps backward, keeping the pen between her and her intruder. As her heart rate slowed somewhat, she took in the sight of him and felt some of the fear draining out of her system. No person dressed the way this guy was could really be that harmful.

He looked like a character straight out of a movie she'd seen about the French Revolution once. His hair was jet black and pulled back in a pony tail that actually looked really good on him (she normally disproved of ponytails on members of the opposite sex as they usually stemmed from a lack of personal hygiene and care, but this one worked). He wore a simple white button collared shirt and a peach and brown striped vest over it, with a large, frilly cravat to top the whole thing off. His jacket was a tailored gray overcoat with tails and a high cut waist. His pants matched the jacket in color and tapered down into black riding boots with a brown band around the lip. More than likely, he was a starving actor looking for a quick buck and meal and he'd fallen so far as to resort to stealing. She wasn't thrilled with the idea, but she figured it was better than a pumped up, tattooed, grizzled, ex-convict who wanted nothing more than to perpetuate felonies and get away with it.

"Who are you?" She asked, surprised by the strength her voice held. "And why are you in my living room?" The man held up his hands as if to surrender and allay her fears, but he was smiling with such genuine amusement that it had the opposite effect.

"Please," he said through chuckles, "please don't be alarmed, Sarah. I'm not here to harm you." She raised the pen she was brandishing higher and took another step back.

"You're in my freaking _living room_! If you're not here to harm me, then what the hell _are_ you here for?" Her hearing kicked in and she lowered the pen again, leaning forward a bit. "Wait…how do you know my name?" The man was still smiling, but at least he'd stopped laughing. It didn't help matters too much, but it made him seem less like an 18th century Hannibal Lecter wannabe.

"You must forgive me Sarah, but the sight of you trying to threaten me with a pen really _was _humorous." He smiled distractedly and then sighed.

"Stop avoiding the question. How do you know my name?" Now that she knew why he'd been laughing, she could see the humor in the situation, but she was feeling a lot like a cornered animal right now, not a player in a sitcom.

"I know much about you, Sarah. Our last meeting was quite informative." She watched as he lazily made his way towards her and then diverted himself as he settled in one of the armchairs to her left. She watched him incredulously and then lowered the pen to her side slowly.

"I'm sorry mister, but you've got the wrong girl. We've never met. I'd remember someone like you." She cast an eye over his attire and then nodded as if reassuring herself. "No doubt about it." He smiled again and shook his head lightly.

"I daresay we did not meet under these guises, my dear, but I assure you, we _have_ met. The King did his very best to keep me from interfering, but you walked with me and allowed me to assist you, and Jareth could do nothing to stop your victory. I watched you grow from a child to a woman in a mere thirteen hours. I have not heard the end of it for six years, but I think my aid was well worth the trouble it caused."

Sarah's mouth dropped open in a really unflattering manner and she felt her head swim as she tried to comprehend what the actor in her Ashley armchair was telling her. _He knew_. Somehow, he knew about Jareth. Somehow he knew how long ago she'd been there. Somehow he knew that she'd beaten the Labyrinth.

"Who _are_ you?" Her voice only shook a little, and she got the whisper of a question out without collapsing, which, given the state of her knees, was a miracle in and of itself. The man blinked up at her for a moment and then smiled.

"Forgive me, I failed to introduce myself properly." He rose from the chair and stood level with her, about eight feet away, and smiled. "My name is Arroyan. I am the Representative of the Underground in this endeavor and sole Advisor to the High King, Jareth Redevia."

Sarah swallowed stiffly while she stared up at Arroyan and let a shaky breath go as she murmured to herself quietly,

"Oh, shit."

--

Jareth paced his study for a few moments before he gave up his search for reassurance from thin air and sat heavily in one of his armchairs. Arroyan had been gone two hours already and Deos only knew how long it would take for everything that needed to be accomplished to come to fruition. That was _if_ Sarah was feeling up to giving him the time of day. She had a nasty habit of brushing people off when the moment came upon her.

Although he'd promised himself that he wouldn't, his wrist cocked to draw a crystal to his fingertips and he'd begun the rotation when a knock sounded at his door. Both relieved and infuriated he barked out a short, "Enter" and then looked around as the door opened.

With the breeze from the corridor came a tall man, nearly as tall as the King himself, but thicker in the shoulders, with a chestnut brown head of hair. Beneath a large, gray traveling cloak, he was dressed in the fashion of the Fae nobility, to demonstrate his status. He wore a simple, white, buttoned, collared shirt that he concealed beneath a solid brown vest and cravat, a high cut green jacket and tails, and brown pants that disappeared into black boots. Jareth rose with a smile as the man came further inside the door, bowed, and then crossed to him.

"It's good to see you," the brunette said as they clasped hands firmly. Jareth nodded and gestured to the chairs before the hearth as he closed the door with a flick of his wrist. The newcomer removed his cloak and sat down in the chair to the left of the hearth while Jareth crossed to the small bar on the side of the room and lifted a decanter of wine in an offer. The man smiled and nodded and Jareth poured two generous glasses before passing one to his companion and taking his seat again.

"The Council felt that they could spare you from your duties for an entire day? I thought you'd become invaluable to them of late, Daeson." Jareth asked with a smirk as he settled into his seat and swallowed some of his wine. Daeson paused with the flute halfway to his mouth and then lowered it to rest on the arm of his chair, his eyes cast down.

"In truth, I had hoped to avoid the topic for a moment," he conceded with a half smile that melted like snow in sunlight. "I _have_ become invaluable to them, Jareth." He lifted his gaze to meet the King's. "And today's visit is not a social call. I come with news from the Council." The smile that had graced Jareth's face moments earlier faded slowly and he regarded his old friend coolly.

"I trust there's nothing wrong," he inquired, his tone businesslike instead of the jovial manner it had been mere seconds before. Daeson took a sip of his wine and sighed, staring into the grate of the fireplace.

"Not as yet, but the news I bring may upset the delicate balance we've established." Jareth said nothing and Daeson cleared his throat before sitting up a little straighter and setting his flute aside.

"The fact of the matter is," he said looking Jareth in the eye, "The Council worries about your indecision in taking a bride. Your mother's death still presses hard upon us all, and the Council greaves for her loss and the pain of your family, but they feel it necessary to recall the repercussions of leaving the Underground without a Queen for longer than the prescribed three months. To that end, to ensure that no harm comes to the country, they have decided on certain measures that will be enacted if the time allotment draws too close to hazard."

Jareth's eyes had turned colder and colder with each word that Daeson had spoken and his heart hammered hard against his ribcage, as he fought to keep from lashing out at the messenger the Council had sent to him. Coolly, he took another mouthful of his wine and then regarded his childhood friend with a mask of neutrality that couldn't have been farther from the truth of his feelings.

"And what are those measures?" His soft, hard voice was warning that he was restraining his true feelings and Daeson heeded it and chose to proceed with caution.

"To ensure that the Kingdom is not neglected in having its two rulers, the Council would appoint another to your throne, one with a wife." His eyes lifted from the floor slowly and he looked at Jareth as if each word he spoke were a knife jab to his chest. "They would appoint your brother, Astonsius."

--

Sarah paced the living room, her half of the PB&J sandwich she'd made in hand, as Arroyan sat in the same armchair, marveling over his half of the snack. She was doing her level best to tune him out and keep from turning and screaming at him to shut up, but his emphatic exclamations of awe at the deliciousness of the sandwich were _really_ distracting. Finally, she turned to look at him as she sat down on the couch, her legs crossed beneath her.

"So…not that I'm completely sure I'm not having a complete breakdown from stress and lack of sleep and the need to forget things that have happened in my past, but…let's go over this again." Arroyan, having finished his half of the sandwich, dusted his hands off and looked up at her expectantly.

"Very well." Sarah took a small bite of the half still in her hand and chewed pensively as she tried to digest the situation.

"Jareth's mother died." She glanced at Arroyan and he nodded simply. "And there's some rule that says that the Underground _has_ to have one male and one female ruler, at all times." Arroyan nodded again and she swallowed her bit of sandwich. "And because you and Jareth are…" she waved her hand vaguely, searching for the right way to express herself.

"Equally responsible for the survival of the Underground, due to the pact made between the power of Deos and Liam Redevia in the first age of the Underground," Arroyan supplied. Sarah nodded and pointed to him with her sandwich.

"That. So, because of that, the two of you have to agree on who Jareth marries?" Arroyan nodded and watched as Sarah shifted uncomfortably. It was the next part that really worried her. "And…and…" She looked up at him helplessly, as if he could tell her that what came next was false. "And…that person is…me?" The last word came out as a whispered squeak and Arroyan smiled at her trepidation, nodding.

"When you came to the to retrieve your brother from the Labyrinth, I sensed something stirring in the Underground. Jareth sensed it too and, under the guise of watching you solve the maze, tried to deny it. After your escapade with the dwarf…ah…" Arroyan snapped his fingers as if it would help him remember the name faster. "Hig…Hug…"

"Hoggle," Sarah said with a small smile. Arroyan nodded, smiling.

"Yes, Hoggle. After the two of you confronted Jareth in the tunnels, he conferred with me and we both realized that letting you go would be dangerous. He did his level best to stall you, to keep you in the Underground. But your love for Tobias was no match for our plans." He smiled genuinely at her. "I have never seen a more determined contestant in the Labyrinth." Sarah blushed a bit and smiled as she took another bite of her sandwich. "In a last effort, he offered you your dreams and as we both know, that didn't work." Arroyan smiled and sighed. "Which brings us to the present. You are the only woman I have the ability to consent to. Jareth has tried to avoid the inevitable for weeks, shown me hundreds of courtiers from every province in the hopes that we might find another, but…the time has come." Sarah nodded, taking another bite of her sandwich. She chewed and contemplated his words and swallowed before looking up again.

"So if I don't go back, the Underground…ceases to exist?" Arroyan leaned back into the chair thoughtfully and considered her question.

"There has never been a situation like this in the history of the Underground, which makes my knowledge faulty, at best." He sighed. "My guess is that wars will break out in the Underground again and slowly but surely the four clans will destroy each other." He looked up at her and saw that she'd finished her sandwich and was thinking long and hard about what he'd set before her.

More than likely, she was not hallucinating. Also, she had two paths, as it stood now.   
The first path led her to the Underground with Arroyan. She'd marry Jareth, preserve the Kingdom, and live out her days with him there. Granted she'd be back in a place where magic was real and there were people and things that cared about her, but she had that here as well, minus the magic. Also, it would mean she'd have to face him again. Only this time, there was nothing at stake, just six years of raw emotion that neither of them had ever gotten over, according to Arroyan.

The second path left her here, in the magic-less world she knew and had come to love. She'd stay in her apartment, she'd keep the job she loved, keep going to school, get her degree, move on to bigger and better things in the world. But she'd have to live with the knowledge that she was solely responsible for the destruction of an age-old race of beings, one of whom she'd used to…

Sarah shook her head and looked at the situation plainly. Her choices were to forsake what she had here, the people she knew, and go to live with someone she'd barely met, for the rest of her life, to preserve a nation, or to stay here with her comforts and her things and the people she knew and let that nation die. She knew the answer. It would, no doubt, haunt her for the rest of her life, but she knew the answer.

--

Jareth closed the door to his study after Daeson quietly and leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to his forehead. The news had come as a blow and he wasn't sure he could comprehend it all, even now. His younger brother, Astonsius, the boy he'd played with, the child he'd watched grow, the man he would do anything to help…he was moving to take the throne.

Jareth crossed back to the seat he'd occupied for the past hour and a half and sank into it again, staring into the embers in the hearth. His world seemed ten times more desolate and he set his jaw firmly against the urge to scream and destroy everything in the room. Astonsius had approached the Council to offer himself as a replacement if a suitable wife could not be found for Jareth, or if Jareth's wife was not suitable to the position, or if the Council had _any_ problems with either monarch. The urge to break something violently over someone's head was all consuming. Jareth stood angrily and made his way to the small bar, pouring himself a glass of brandy and swallowing it swiftly. The burn helped to take the edge off of his homicidal rage and the pounding of his heart helped to drown out his thoughts. He swallowed another glass - the burning and the pounding increased. He poured himself a third and was prepared to swallow it as well when he heard the soft sound of a delicate throat being cleared. He turned slowly and stopped still as death as he took in the green eyes, the raven hair. She smiled awkwardly.

"Uh…hey."

Jareth felt the glass slip from his hand as the thought resounded in his mind like a gong.

Sarah Williams had returned to the Underground.


	4. A Helter Skelter Romance From The Start

Arroyan lingered in the hallway, watching as Jareth and Sarah exchanged awkward greetings and small talk. Jareth's mind screamed that Arroyan was as good as dead, the moment Sarah left his sight, but he knew it was just theatrics. He'd felt the shift when he and Sarah had returned, her with a duffle bag of clothes and prized possessions, he with the satisfaction of knowing things would not end so badly. The Underground had been starving for the bond of a King and Queen and Sarah had quenched that thirst, right readily. The two of them were awkward now, but soon enough things would lend themselves in the right direction, he was sure of it.

Jareth stared at her blankly for a moment. His heart and his mind seemed to have ground to a halt and he could not think of anything to say to her that could accurately communicate what was going on inside of him. He was overjoyed to see her in a way he'd never been towards anyone before, yet he was wary of her like an animal being taunted with fire. She just stared at him, lips pursed together, as if she were appraising the decision that she'd made.

"I didn't expect you so soon," Jareth conceded blankly. "I was sure you'd give Arroyan as much trouble as you did me." She smiled and shrugged a shoulder.

"Well, when you asked me to stay in the Underground, I was newly 15, terrified, and missing my baby brother. Arroyan explained the situation much better and he's easily manipulated into revealing necessary information, whereas you are much harder to coerce." She leaned against the wall casually and glanced behind her to make sure Arroyan wasn't listening in before look back at Jareth, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "By the way…peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Works like a charm." She winked and Jareth cracked a grin and shook his head. "As to coming so soon," Sarah continued, "I just figured that you never made me wait, when I needed your help, so I should probably return the favor." She was trying her best to ignore the feeling that had taken control of her chest the minute she'd laid eyes on him. She'd known it a few times before, and it was recognizable, but highly improbable, given that she'd just arrived. She wasn't an airhead; she didn't rush into things lightly. It was disconcerting how quickly she'd let the history she had with him fall away as she tried to ignore the feeling that the future she'd been so desperately seeking in her other life was looking her dead in the eyes. Urgently, she worked to summon back some of the anger she'd felt six years ago when he'd first refused to give Toby back, but it was having nothing doing. She'd long since forgiven him and made peace with the idea that he had done everything for her. He didn't need the baby, he probably didn't want the baby even, but she'd wanted a night off and he'd given her that. He'd given her all of it. That's why she'd agreed so readily, this time.

They'd both changed in the past six years. In her never ending quest to forget the Labyrinth and the feelings and nuances of herself that he'd ignited, she'd found herself longing to go back, even if it was just for a few moments. There was something about being around him that had always made her feel at home, even when he was sending large, metallic, grinding machines chasing after her or throwing snakes at her throat, moments before they turned into harmless scarves. He brought out the worst in her, but always came back around to coax the best of her to the surface, afterwards. She decided that this inspection of her feelings for Jareth was best done when he wasn't within earshot and turned her attention to what she could tell of him, just from looking.

He was wearing clothes similar to Arroyan's, rather than the glittery, skin tight, oh-so-unflattering ensembles he'd worm on her last trip, but he was dressed all in black – out of respect for the dead, no doubt. His hair, instead of sticking up and flopping over in odd places, at odd angles, had grown out and was tied back in a neat ponytail, also like Arroyan. Come to think of it, he and Arroyan could've been mirror images except for the color of their hair and eyes, and the way Jareth made her chest feel like it was simultaneously imploding and exploding, all the time. She shook herself mentally. He also seemed to be less of the petulant brat she'd encountered on her last visit and more of a gentleman. His emotions, instead of rising to the surface with every moment, lurked somewhere deep inside, where she could not draw them out. It was comforting and distressing, all at once to think that whatever was going on inside his head would stay there, this time. Shaking her head, she diverted her eyes from him as a blush crept up her cheeks.

Jareth's eyes, which had been trained on her the whole time, did not move as he took in the sight of her and felt himself come more alive than he had been in months. Behind Sarah, Arroyan suddenly appeared, entering the room, grinning in that way that meant he knew something and the way he kept glancing at Sarah led him to believe it had to do with her. As soon as possible, Jareth would get it out of him. The King's Advisor bowed to Jareth and then turned to Sarah with a smile.

"Forgive me, Sarah, but His Majesty has an appointment scheduled with his father, which he must leave for, now." He looked back at Jareth, who nodded solemnly and moved to the chair behind his desk, reaching for his suit coat. "But if you'll follow me, I'd be glad to show you to your room. You must be tired after your travels."

Sarah glanced at Jareth and then looked back to Arroyan, as the new feeling started a loud and flamboyant protest against leaving Jareth before she squashed the louder members. Even if she was trying to convince herself that she didn't care, she'd expected to have just a bit more time with him before she was hustled off to…God knew what. _So we're headed for a _**long**_ engagement,_ she quipped sarcastically to herself. Glancing up at Arroyan, she prepared to open her mouth and offer rebuttal, but his look plainly said that it wasn't open for discussion. He turned and led the way out of the study and she followed quietly, pondering how in Heaven's name she and Jareth were going to develop a relationship if such a stiff was running his schedule. _A relationship. With Jareth._ The thought sent shivers down her spine.

As she walked along in Arroyan's wake, she heard her name echo out of the study and into the hall, and soon footsteps heralded Jareth's approach, causing her to pause and turn to look at him as he emerged after them. His fingers were fast at work, fastening the buttons of his coat, but his eyes were trained solely on hers.

"If you're not too worn out by whatever my Advisor has in store for you today, perhaps you'd care to join me for dinner, this evening?" Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Arroyan, who'd paused and was regarding them calmly, before looking back to Jareth.

"We talking a big dinner with people I've never met before or just a few people or…what?" Jareth smiled.

"I was thinking just you and I. We've quite a lot to discuss." The butterflies, which had, until now, remained fairly silent about the situation at hand, suddenly rose up in a wave that threatened to rival her lungs and heart for most necessary organs in her abdomen. Maybe he'd felt the same righteous indignation she had at being rushed through quick hellos like a prized dog at show. Maybe he wanted to spend more time with her? She wouldn't get her hopes up. It wasn't likely that he had felt the same wave of excited nausea that she had when he'd turned to look at her for the first time in six years and she'd probably be better off admiring him from a distance than getting too attached and getting burned. She'd go to dinner and see where things stood, then make her decisions.

"Yeah, we do. I'll be there." She smiled nodded and Jareth reciprocated the gesture, before taking a step towards her, his hand reaching for her own. Sarah, unsure of exactly what was coming, followed his lead and watched as he lifted her knuckles to his lips, gently, his eyes ever trained on her own. As he released her hand and took a step backwards, he smiled wider.

"Until tonight, Sarah." With one last look he was gone, walking purposefully down the hall in the direction she and Arroyan had come from, minutes before. She watched him for a few moments before Arroyan cleared his throat and brought her attention back to him. She turned to find him grinning at her impishly. Cocking an eyebrow at him, she made to ask about the look, but before she could get words out, he turned, striding forward and leading her further into the castle. She glanced over her shoulder for one last glimpse of Jareth, but he had vanished from sight completely. Sighing, she turned back around and followed Arroyan silently, to wherever it was he was leading her.

--

Jareth arrived in his father's sitting room in high spirits, but they quickly deflated into hot embers of burning rage. On a small sofa, beneath an open window, sat his brother, conversing with his father happily and tousling his hair, in the same manner he had employed from his youth. The situation Astonsius had created in the Kingdom had all but vanished from Jareth's mind when he'd laid eyes on Sarah, but now it reared its head venomously, desperate to lash out at his brother and make him pay for his deceit. For his part, Astonsius was playing his role excellently. He smiled and rose with a hearty cry the moment Jareth entered the room and crossed the floor to embrace his brother. Before their arms met, Jareth fixed his younger brother with a stare cold enough to freeze the entire Underground, but for the sake of his father, allowed Astonsius to embrace him.

"You have nerve, showing your face in this castle," Jareth hissed into his ear, holding onto his brother long enough to convey his absolute fury. The two brothers pulled back, both sporting convincing smiles, while their eyes waged vicious battles for them. Astonsius did not seem concerned that his brother's eyes plainly spoke of the harm the King wished to inflict upon him.

"I was always the more daring of the pair of us, Jareth. Take that lovely mortal you let go all those years ago." Astonsius smiled derisively, causing Jareth's fist to ball at his side, in rage. "You gave her thirteen hours to find her way to you, and what did she find instead? A baby and a new way to send you scurrying back to mother and father to lick your wounds for six years. Given the same opportunity, I assure you, I could and would have succeeded in securing her affections, in a fraction of that time."

Jareth glanced at his father, who was watching the boys out of the corner of his eye, as he perused an ancient history tome. The retired king was not hard of hearing, but when it came to the boys' quarrels, he always seemed to turn the deaf ear. Jareth found it both infuriating and reassuring that his father allowed them to solve their own problems without interference or prejudice towards one side or the other.

"And that is where you allow your pride to cloud your judgment, Astonsius." He looked back to his brother, smiling confidently. "Had you ever taken to investigating those your claims, _especially_ in reference to Sarah, you would know that she would never have trusted you, let alone lowered her guard long enough to allow you to worm your way into her affections. She was wary of me, though I played my part honestly. A kind Goblin King would have sent her running for the hills. Sadly, brother, I fear that under your supervision, Sarah would have completed the Labyrinth that much faster." Jareth clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder in mock affection and then turned to his father as he crossed the floor. Knocking those below him down a peg or two always helped his spirits. And now that Sarah was here he was finding that Astonsius' threat seemed like one he would've made when they were children. Perhaps this visit wouldn't be quite so bad, after all.

--

Sarah tried to steal a glance at her room as Arroyan opened the doors, but he was blocking the way so completely that all she could do was admire the fine work his tailor had done on his jacket.

The walk had taken a good five minutes and she had been anxious to see what waited for her since Arroyan had first mentioned her room but he'd done his level best to drag out the time between making her and Jareth go their separate ways and the time when she got to see her room. When he finally stepped back to let her in, she rolled her eyes at him and walked purposefully into the room as if she were a military commander who'd come to inspect a room and leave. But as she stepped inside and took in her surroundings, her jaw dropped and breath hitched in her throat. Had she been in a movie, this would've been when the violins and dreamland music started playing.

The room was white with a gleaming hardwood floors. Instantly, she felt as if she'd stepped back into her skin, so to speak, and the immediate comfort worried her slightly. She was going to be here for…well, forever, but she'd made up her mind when she'd packed her duffle that she'd be on her guard. Jareth needed help. Done. He needed her to stay in the Kingdom forever. No problem. He needed her to trust him. Well…that'd take a little while, but given the sight before her it might not take as long as she'd originally expected.

The furniture was the first thing that tipped her off to some sort of plan. The bedstead, the bureau, the chaise, the trim, everything was the same dark, ebony colored wood that she herself had picked out, Aboveground. The second was her lazy, lacy taste, as the magazine that had featured her apartment had called it. The ornately carved French doors that led out onto a small balcony had been opened and the breeze played with the cream colored curtains, idly blowing them about. The midday sun, which fell first through leaves outside and then in through the windows, cast the room in a peachy color that made her feel like she was back in her apartment.

The bed was king sized and drenched in white. The contrast between the destruction of color of the frame of the bed and the lack of color of the bedding brought a smile to her lips as she moved toward it. A high headboard revealed intricate carvings that seemed to tell a story as they wound their way first over the bridge of the board and then up the posts of the canopy. Sheer white canopy linens were tied to the bedposts, to keep them out of the way. She smiled, delighted, as she ran her hand over them.

Turning again, she let her eyes look over the rest of the room. The chaise she'd glimpsed when she had first entered the room sat by a large fireplace making a small half circle with a very comfortable looking armchair and a coffee table. On the floor, directly in front of the hearth, there was a plush white carpet that she thought would be extremely comfortable for some late night reading, by the fire. Across from the fireplace, on the other side of the room was a bureau that so mimicked the one she had owned Aboveground that she couldn't help but throw Arroyan a suspicious grin. He did nothing but smile as she continued her inspection of the room.

Past the bureau was a door. She crossed to it, pulling on the handle and stepping back as the door swung open. All at once, the fears she had harbored over the lack of plumbing, or substandard plumbing measures, of the Underground melted. There was not only plumbing, there was style and thought in this room as well.

Everything bore the same tones as the rest of her bedroom. The mirror above the sink was wide and trimmed in the same color wood, the sink and pedestal were white, and the bathtub, though it was sunken into the floor, had the same ebony colored trim running around the lip of it. She leaned against the doorframe, as she took in the room that looked as if it had sprung from her own imagination. Even the toilet, which was just a plain toilet, looked perfect.

She came back into the bedroom and turned to Arroyan, her face beaming with happiness and gratitude as she struggled to find words to express her pleasure.

"I…how…how did you do this?" She asked as she walked back towards him, one hand trailing behind her, vaguely indicating the bedroom and bathroom. Arroyan grinned and shrugged.

"The inspiration came from your home, as you might've guessed. But the actual transformation, well, that's…that's…" He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. "How would you put it Aboveground?"

"Classified?" Sarah offered. He broke into a wide smile and nodded.

"I love it. It's beautiful," Sarah gushed further. Arroyan cocked an eyebrow and smirked as he took a step towards her.

"You haven't seen it all, yet." Glancing up at him in confusion, she allowed him to steer her towards another doorway, just past the fireplace, that she hadn't noticed before. Giving her the tiniest of shoves, Arroyan waited outside and allowed Sarah to enter the room alone before following.

The bathroom was nothing. As she stepped through the doorway and looked around, she found herself in the midst of the biggest closet she'd ever seen. Moreover, it was completely full of clothes, shoes, undergarments, jewelry, and accessories…anything she could ever need to make any ensemble the perfect one. The duffle bag of clothes she'd brought with her paled in comparison to what she now stared at with giddy excitement.

Taking a tentative step down the aisle that divided the room in two, she looked to her left. Racks of jeans greeted her, followed by t-shirts of her favorite bands, movies, sayings, everything. After that there were long sleeved shirts, blouses, dress pants, pajama pants, sweaters, tank tops, corsets – anything and everything she'd worn or wanted to wear Aboveground. It was like someone had flipped through every one of her favorite catalogues and had purchased all the things that she would like to have owned. She was about to wade into the jungle of clothes and look them all over, but her memory called her back and pointed out that there was another half to the room.

She turned and stopped dead in her tracks as she encountered the sight of hundreds, if not thousands, of dresses, gowns, two-piece outfits, skirts, and all of the undergarments she'd ever need to pull off any and all of these numbers.

"These are all for _me_?" Sarah squeaked, her feet rooted to the spot, not daring to venture further into the throng of fashion, but letting her eyes wander over the rows and rows of gowns, taking them in.

There were ball gowns reminiscent of every single Disney movie she'd ever seen, low cut gowns that looked as if they might've been in style in the 1700's, but still somehow piqued her interest, hoop skirted ball gowns, sundresses, a veritable assortment of little black dresses, and…as her eyes fell on the last section of the "formal wear" side of her closet, she couldn't stand still any longer. She plunged into the racks in the middle of the collection, inspecting each dress as she did her best to remember to breath. These were _designer couture gowns_. She recognized the designs of Armani, Versace, Gucci, Vuitton, Dolce and Gabanna. She was quite sure that she'd seen some of these at Oscars past, but there were some particularly stunning numbers that she'd never seen before and she idly wondered if Jareth had a connection to the fashion world that no one was aware of.

"They are indeed," Arroyan replied, inspecting the ring that graced his little finger and turning it slightly, so that it sat at the correct angle. He glanced up at where she had been and smiled as his eyes searched for her ponytail, bobbing up and down as she inspected the gowns. "And I should tell you that dinner is always a formal occasion, in the Underground. You'll need to wear a dress." Sarah's eyes never left the dresses, but she did register his comment and the seriousness of the situation struck her, causing her to stop and emerge from the rows of dresses. Should she wear one of the gigantic 18th century looking gowns with the big skirts, or a sundress, or one of the Grammy worthy numbers? The possibilities were endless, but she had no idea what would be expected of her, and she'd resolved, upon setting foot in the castle, that she would do her level best not to cause too much of a disturbance.

"Um…which…which kind should I wear?" She waved vaguely at the rows and rows of gowns, trying to signify that there were over a hundred different styles to choose from, within this closet.

"For this evening, one of the dresses you would wear to…" He paused, his brow furrowing as he realized the Above and Underground's customs and sense of formality probably didn't match. "…something formal that you would feel at ease wearing to an Aboveground function." Sarah nodded and turned, prepared to plunge back in. Arroyan, sensing that he was about to lose the calm and collected Sarah to a vicious bout of girlish enthusiasm, moved into the closet, against his better judgment, and took hold of her elbow, guiding her out of the room, amidst garbled protestation.

"You'll have plenty of time to choose your gown this evening, Sarah. For now, I think it best to get you acquainted with the castle. Jareth and I will not always be able to escort you." She looked up at him and closed her mouth, which had, up until then, been releasing odd sounds in the form of remonstration for being taken away from all her new clothes. His words struck an oddly uncomfortable chord with her and she paused for a moment, before letting go of the breath she'd been holding. _Got too used to the idea of being near him, Sarah, _she chided herself gently. _He rules an entire Kingdom that's even bigger than the Labyrinth. You can't expect to keep him all to yourself._ She felt Arroyan's eyes watching her, and suddenly she was concerned that he'd noticed the slight shift in her mood. Plastering a smile on her face, she crossed her arms over her chest in defiance and raised her eyebrows bemusedly, doing her best imitation of a cocky, self-confident New Yorker.

"Please, Arroyan. I'm from Manhattan, home of the twice-a-day muggers. I think I'll be okay walking down a few _hallways_, in a _castle_, without you guys." He smiled and nodded, but his eyes suggested that he'd read more into her three-second lapse than she felt comfortable with. Suddenly her heart was beating harshly, as if trying to explode from her chest rather than let Arroyan figure out what the silence had meant. He was still staring at her as if she'd just given him a vital clue to a mystery he'd been trying to solve and she was positive she knew what the numbers added up to. Smirking, she shook her head at him in what she hoped was enough confidence to put him off her trail for the time being and moved ahead of him for the door. Even with the windows open, the room was suddenly awfully stuffy.

--

Jareth closed the door to the study with a wave of his hand as he undid his jacket and pulled it off, tossing it rashly into a corner of the room. The meeting with his father had done nothing to calm him and the way that Astonsius had kept referring to the Kingdom as "_our_" legacy had made him want to throw his brother from a window. He sat heavily in the chair behind his desk and closed his eyes for a moment before a thought occurred to him: _Sarah_.

Summoning a crystal to his fingertips, he twisted it slightly and felt a smile spring to his lips as he watched her walking side by side with Arroyan as he showed her the castle. For the most part, Sarah seemed content to stay quiet and listen as Arroyan pointed out rooms worth paying attention to, her head bowed slightly, as if she were pondering something. It was very unlike Sarah, who had always walked with her head held high and her eyes taking in all she could.

The idea that she might be so consumed with pondering an idea that she would ignore the beauty that was the castle intrigued him and for the next few minutes, he watched her intently, trying to figure out what was troubling her. The marriage? The separation from her family? Their history together? They were all viable options, and as he mulled them over, he found his eyes drawn down to her hands. Her left hand held onto her right tenderly, almost as if it were hurt, but her thumb and middle finger were moving in a repetitive pattern. The crystal's focus shifted to reflect his interest and he had a clearer view of her hands. He watched as silver flashed between revolutions and then froze the image in the crystal as the object became clear.

"A Claddaugh," he murmured quietly, sitting back in his chair with a smirk. Sure enough, the central focus of the crystal showed two hands grasping a crowned heart – the trademark Irish symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship. The heart pointed out, signifying that her heart belonged to no one, and it generated a stab of anger that coursed through his chest like water down a drain. Another twist of his wrist and the crystal was gone. The feeling remained.

Jareth pulled one of the documents on his desk towards him, instinctively. Work always took his mind off of the troubling issues. His eyes scanned the first line of the document four or five times before he realized he hadn't absorbed any of it and let his eyes drift upwards. Sighing, he set the parchment down and stood, moving out from behind his desk and beginning the familiar motions of pacing his study.

Sarah was obviously feeling trepidation over her situation; it was written all over her face and her body language screamed it. There was another emotion he saw there, and he couldn't place that one, but it was even stronger than the first. And what of his own feelings? Every time he saw her, his heart seemed to swell and he found it just a little harder to breathe. His mind often became lax in its duties when she spoke and he, who was always on top of the situation, found himself silently begging her to lead him where she would.

_It's no way for a King to behave,_ he found himself thinking sternly. Vaguely his own words echoed in his mind, from so long ago.

_Come, come, come, Hogbrain! I'm surprised at you; losing your head over a girl._

"Ironic," he muttered grimly. With a deep sigh, he turned back to his desk and sat once again, pulling the same piece of work towards him and focusing on the words. He'd see her again in a little over two hours. He prayed silently that he'd get _something_ done by then, but he wasn't holding his breath.

--

The pair turned down another hall and Sarah finally found herself somewhere she recognized: right outside her bedroom door. Looking up at Arroyan, she smiled.

"Is this the part where I turn into a pretty, pretty princess?" she asked, hopefully. Arroyan, unfamiliar with the term, cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat, but nodded, nonetheless.

"You'll find everything you need in the room, somewhere, and your ladies in waiting will be along shortly. Jareth will escort you to dinner himself. Be ready for seven." She nodded and smiled again as he reached for her hand, mimicking Jareth's movements earlier, though his eyes remained fixed on her skin, instead of her eyes. As he released her, she waved to him as he turned away and headed down the hallway before ducking inside her door and closing it quietly. Turning to survey her room, she let her mind rest for a moment and then pressed a hand to her forehead, pushing the hair out of her face as she went through a checklist of things to do.

"Okay. Dinner with the King. Dinner with the King. Find something to wear. Take a shower. Or a bath…or…whatever. Get dressed. All by seven. Right. Got it. No problem." She started towards the closet, her mind jumping back and forth between different topics and ideas and by the time she'd arrived in front of the dresses she wanted to look through, she had given up trying to hide her thoughts. As she took hold of a Dolce and Gabanna gown, to push it aside, the words just tumbled out of her mouth.

"Dammit, I'm so _screwed_."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Whew. Sorry for the delay. This chapter _really_ didn't want to be written.  
But here it is, just the same.  
The reviews have all been so encouraging, thank you so much!  
And keep them coming.  
I admit it...I'm a praise whore.**

I am oh-you-tee, ducklings.

**Regina  
**


	5. Beauty In The Breakdown

There was no rest anywhere in the castle. At one end, Sarah scrambled back and forth, trying to get herself into a semblance of a ready state, driving the two poor women who'd been sent to help her dress absolutely crazy. At the other end, Jareth paced his office, having completely given up on working. And in places where the two weren't currently located, excited whispers tore through the halls like wildfire spreading through a dry forest. _She_ was back.

She was also trying to fend off shocked ladies in waiting while she bathed, dressed, did her hair and applied the little makeup she had planned on wearing. Her bare shoulders seemed to be a personal offence to everything they knew and they tried to urge her to change her mind about the dress she'd chosen, but as she stood before the mirror, surveying her work, she shook her head, a coy smile on her lips.

"No, this is _it_." She turned to the side to get a look at herself from all angles before glancing in the mirror at the shocked expressions she was getting from the two women who stood, surveying her. "Come on, girls!" She looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked. "It's the first date. I'm pretty sure I'd be breaking about thirteen laws if I _didn't _wear the little black dress." She turned back to the mirror with a grin and did her level best to ignore the skeptic glances that she was still catching in the mirror's reflection. The Underground had different tastes in choices, but she'd been left to her own devices and while she was perfectly willing to wear one of the Marie Antoinette numbers that were hanging in the closet, she felt more comfortable in something that didn't decry her as a member of the French Aristocracy.

Her hair hung around her shoulders, curling nicely and framing her face in a way that suggested she too walked red carpets on the weekends. Silver and diamond chandelier earrings sparkled mysteriously against her cheek and the diamond pendant around her neck complimented her green eyes nicely, adding a little extra sparkle to the emerald glint they possessed. And as for the dress…_well_.

She'd picked the dress because it was the first one she'd found without glitter or sequins dripping off of it. Apparently Jareth had abandoned his former style in practice, but not at heart. She'd made a mental note to take scissors and a seam ripper to all the festooned dresses she could find when she had a moment or two, but she'd picked this one for its simplicity.

The dress was exquisite. A zippered one piece, the bodice looked as if it wrapped around her, pinning at the side, and the skirt flared nicely at the hem, just below the knee. The neckline was appropriately cut to her tastes, keeping her fully covered, but hinting at what remained hidden, and the two straps thinned out as they reached the peak of her shoulders and disappeared behind. It brought out all the right places on her and she was confident that in Manhattan she would have won an entire bar's worth of attention. Underground? She was betting on an entire Kingdom's.

She slipped her feet into a strappy pair of black heels just as a knock sounded at the door. Suddenly her heart was hammering again, the butterflies were swarming, and the picket line that had started earlier was back, with greater numbers, it seemed. How long had she been away from him when she lived in Manhattan, without any of these feelings? And now she'd been back Underground for less than six hours and she was practically pining for him. This was it. Now or never. She crossed to the door and let her hand rest on the handle for a moment before turning her wrist and pulling.

-

Jareth strode down the hall, adjusting his jacket nervously. Mentally, he felt his arrogance flare up as he reminded himself that it was just dinner. Automatically, he dropped his hands and cleared his throat.

He'd changed twice. The black suit had seemed too somber for an occasion such as this and the sky blue one too foppish. He'd settled on slate gray pants and a jacket, with a pinstriped vest, and poet's shirt. The process had seemed time consuming, but when he glanced at the clock, he found, to his great dismay, that he still had forty minutes until dinner. He watched the clock for a few moments, but each second seemed interminable and every minute that passed felt as if it had been a month.

He'd tried a few things to calm himself down and take his mind off of her, but none of them had worked. The books Arroyan left scattered around the castle were mainly history, which only made him consider all the problems he and Sarah would have to overcome to make a marriage work. His work seemed mostly to be foreign relations, which he'd never handled well. He found himself admitting that Sarah would be much better suited for smoothing things out between angry diplomats who merely wanted their way and refused to see reason. He'd watched her quell fights between men twice and three times her size in the place she worked, without so much as raising her voice. His world seemed dependent on her, wholly and fixedly. Finally, against his will, he gave in and let his thoughts dwell on her. To his credit, the time seemed to pass much quicker and as he came out of a private review of her time in the Labyrinth, he found that he had to leave just then if he were going to arrive at her room at seven.

Finally he rounded the corner that led to her rooms and found himself slowing as he reached her door. His emotions lingered on the edge of a knife: part of him longed to demand her exit as speedily as possible, much like the Beast in that fairy tale she loved so much, and the other wished she would stay behind the doors for the rest of her time here. He found his life so much more complex when she entered the equation and given the state of things, he simply wasn't sure if it was wise to bring such a catalyst into an already volatile situation. But as he came to a stop outside her door, he found that he had no control of himself. His hand rose, balled into a fist, and knocked succinctly. From there, it was all up to her.

Ages seemed to pass and he heard every single drop of blood that flowed through his veins during each moment. Finally a rhythmic click signaled her approach and he felt himself draw breath. The clicking stopped and there was a pause before the handle of the door turned slowly, opening the portal to reveal her.

The two of them stood staring at each other for a moment. Eyes swept up and down and shy grins blossomed on bare facial pallets. Jareth's mind had ground to a stop as he took in every inch of her and noted she was closer to his height in those shoes, but as she blushed under his scrutiny, he returned to his faculties and smiled charmingly.

"You made excellent use of that closet," he murmured more to himself than to her, but she smiled anyway.

"I figured it'd be rude not to." Taking a step out of her door, she glanced back over her shoulder for a moment at the girls, who were watching her wide eyed and then closed the door behind her. "But I have to apologize now." Jareth quirked an eyebrow, suspiciously. "I think I might've scarred those girls Arroyan sent me for life, with my shoulders in particular." Jareth, who'd been admiring all of her, including her perfectly sculpted shoulders, grinned wolfishly and nodded as he moved down the hall towards the dining room at a leisurely pace.

"I'm sure they'll become accustomed to your tastes in no time," he replied, clasping his hands behind his back. He wanted more than anything to take her by the hand, but she'd been here a mere four hours. No doubt it would scare her to be confronted by his affection, so early in the game.

They walked in amicable silence until they reached the dining room. Sarah had visited it briefly with Arroyan on her tour, and he'd described the sight of a feast that spanned the entire room, filling the corners and overflowing the tables. She wasn't expecting that much extravagance, not for a simple dinner for two, but she'd hoped for something more than what she was seeing now.

The dining room was still, completely empty, just as it had been. A slight breeze blew in from the doors that led out onto the balcony and she glanced at Jareth, looking for a clue as to what was going on, but his face was a mask of serenity. He didn't seem at all perturbed by the lack of food, or tables, but merely continued walking. Sarah followed him cautiously, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face as the light breeze toyed with them. Jareth was moving towards the doors, which were pouring the dying rays of the sun's light into the room, casting it in an orange light, and she followed cautiously, her face blooming with a smile as she took in the sight on the balcony.

The banquet would have to wait. Tonight's dinner seemed to be devoted entirely to the beauty of the Underground and, in Jareth's mind, her new place amid it. The balcony over looked the hills and valleys of the Underground and the river that swept through it, giving and sustaining life in Jareth's Kingdom. She paused in the doorway, looking out over the railing of the balcony, her eyes alight with interest in the simplistic beauty she beheld.

Jareth watched her silently, his face a mask, though his heart swelled with awe at the breathtaking sight of her enchantment with his home. He'd been worried that she would feel as out of place and uncomfortable here as she had in the Labyrinth, but those thoughts had disappeared as quickly as a handful of sand on the wind as he surveyed her now. After a moment, he realized her eyes were on his and he brought his attention back to the moment, clearing his throat and pulling out her chair as he looked away. She sat gracefully and looked again over the railing, her eyes taking in the river and the valley.

"How is it that you aren't being completely overrun with tourists when you have _this_?" She glanced at him, smirking and then shook her head, looking back out as he took his seat and reached for the bottle of wine that sat in the bucket of ice to his left.

"Well, the entrance fees to the Underground are extraordinary." She looked back to him as he poured her a glass of wine before reaching for his own. "There are those who find risking life, limb, and sanity to pass through a monstrous Labyrinth, merely to enjoy the delights of the lands beyond, a bit extravagant." He set the wine back in the ice as Sarah's chuckle echoed across the night air. Even her laugh belonged in the Underground. It almost harmonized with the sound of the Underground's wilderness and he reveled in it for a moment. As it died, away, however, he was left with the soothing sound of the river and his thoughts as silence fell between them.

_Talk to her, you idiot_, he chided himself harshly. His confidence had once been a sight to behold in the Underground. He had once been able to charm any woman, but in the past six hours, he'd reverted to a younger version of himself – unsure, quiet, and believing. Taking another mouthful of wine, he felt his abdomen tighten as if preparing to receive a blow and before he knew what was happening, he was talking.

He asked her about her life, as if he had no idea what had been going on since their last parting and she answered honestly, if not a bit frankly. It seemed that Sarah Williams had grown up quite a bit. Where once she would have sat weeping about her distance from family and friends, she accepted it with a graceful shrug of her shoulder and laughter as she described some of the better parts of her former lifestyle. He was enchanted, completely, and as the different courses were brought to the table, he kept proposing topics that they could discuss. The sun dipped below the horizon, ushering the night into its place and the servers brought candles, but still they talked.

Sarah, it seemed, had gleaned more than her fair share of information from Arroyan and did not hesitate to ask him questions about the Underground when they came to her. She lightly touched on the subject of his mother's death, expressed her sympathy, and then began questioning about the other candidates for her "position," as she called it. He regaled her with stories, some wholly true, some wholly untrue, and others a beautiful combination of the two, of the women who had caught his eye, and his frustration over Arroyan's stubbornness. She watched him with such fascination that he found his need for her gaze liken to his need for oxygen.

Finally, the courses were finished, the dishes cleared, and the two of them sat in contented silence, watching each other. Sarah was feeling warm from the wine, but still retained control of herself. Jareth too had the misty gleam that alcohol brings in his eyes, but he was as lucid as he ever had been and regarded her comfortably as her lips parted again.

"So now that we know each other…what happens next?" She lifted her hand to grasp the bulb of her wine glass and moved it towards her, her Claddaugh catching the candlelight beautifully as she took a sip and set it back down. The sight of the heart still pointing away from her caused another twinge of irksome jealousy inside of him and he cleared his throat, his eyes moving back up to hers as he smiled.

"Tomorrow you will meet my father and brother, after which Arroyan will begin your instruction in the ways of the Queens." She nodded, enraptured by his words, and he continued. "In a few days, you'll be presented to the Court at a ball. Next week we will announce our engagement and in two weeks' time, we will be married." His words hung in the air for a moment and she swallowed, her jaw setting itself as she took in what he'd said. The wind seemed to pick up as she drew slow and steady breaths, tossing her hair around like a rag doll, and she seethed with unspoken anger.

Their entire relationship was already laid out in stone and she'd had no say in its formation, development, or execution. _I wonder if I'm allowed to pick out my own wedding dress and everything_, she mused sarcastically. Didn't she get to be swept off her feet by Prince Charming, just once? She'd waited her entire life to find the one man who could make her heart do back flips with just one glance, found him, and found out that he'd given up on wooing women in lieu of simply planning all their interactions and seeing that they came out to match his tastes.

Her mind ran over his words, pausing to consider the "instruction in the ways of the Queens", her mind skipping ahead two weeks to their wedding night. She was quite sure that he'd want her to spend the night and though she wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of sleeping with a man she'd only known a couple of weeks, she'd always supposed her wedding night would be about mutual love and respect, instead of a Court sanctioned conception designed to keep the monarchy running smoothly. She was reminded of an old English adage that a friend of hers used to talk about, when she discussed the way the English used to regard their women. In the beginning of the 20th century, if a woman was married to a man she did not particularly find enticing, her upbringing urged her to, "lie back and think of England." So that's what she was: a prized mare. Perhaps this entire charade had been simply to secure Jareth's right to bed her. As her eyes surveyed him, she felt her anger flaring gracefully, blocking out the rational part of her brain that was arguing in Jareth's defense. _I wouldn't put it past him, _she thought grimly. Her rationality was silenced.

Bringing herself back to the moment, she reached for her wine glass again, her eyes waxing colder and colder with each moment. She finished the glass, but her senses remained crystal clear and solidly focused on the words that now escaped her lips.

"Good to know." It was a simple statement, but Jareth caught each and every sharp object her eyes were hurling at him, most of them double ended daggers. Staring at her, he idly wondered what had happened the sweet young woman he'd just treated to a sumptuous dinner.

"Is everything all right, Sarah?" He looked her dead in the eyes, his tone concerned, but he did not find sympathy or gratitude looking back at him. In fact, if he weren't mistaken, all he saw was anger and malice.

"Just ducky," she replied, fishing her napkin from her lap and tossing it onto the table. Jareth watched, wide eyed as she pushed herself away from the table and stood up, heading back into the dining room. He stayed where he was for a moment, but the sky had suddenly brought clouds and they'd begun to drip on him. His curiosity piqued and his emotions rising, he stood and followed her inside.

"You'll forgive me, my dear, but in my Kingdom, one normally bows to the King before storming out on him." He hadn't even noticed that his anger had risen up ahead of all the other emotions vying for exploration, but he found it soothing, like an old lover come back to reconcile differences. Sarah's footsteps faltered at his words and she turned sharply back around and stood, looking at him, disbelievingly.

"You've got major balls, I'll give you that, Jareth, but you can take all those formalities and shove them right up your ass if you think for one moment that I'm going to bow and grovel to you after the stunt you and your little henchman just pulled." Her finger jabbed angrily back toward the patio from whence they'd just come and he raised an eyebrow, confused.

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain further, Sarah. You see, in our time apart, I'd forgotten that your temper tantrums leave you in a state of such complete disarray that even the most intelligent beings find your tangents hard to follow." Her change in mood was shocking and he struggled to comprehend it as he watched her. Unnoticed by the two of them, the weather outside had turned drastically darker and the rain that had only seeped from the clouds now fell with purpose. She stalked back towards him, her eyes ablaze with anger and words she'd kept stored up inside of her for six years.

"Honestly Jareth, you're the most pathetic thing I've ever laid eyes on." He was surprised at the way her words stung, like a slap across the cheek, each time she opened her mouth. "First you…you expect me to just collapse in front of you and beg for mercy as a 15 year old. Then you wait six years, lose your mother and realize that you have to pull your act together or you'll lose your rank and insignia. So instead of being honest, you lure me back under the pretenses of need, when all you really want is a chance to make me as miserable as I've made you. Fine, I'm officially miserable, you won, congratulations."

His anger had built with each word and as she turned to walk away again, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. Alarmed, she allowed herself to be pulled toward him like a rag doll, but once she recovered herself, she glared at him fiercely.

"Your hypocrisy knows no bounds, does it, Sarah? You speak about me as though I were a villain who'd been conjured from thin air when we both know perfectly well that every hardship that befell you was of your own making." She opened her mouth to offer rebuttal, but he wasn't finished. "And if I ever hear you speak of my mother in such a discourteous manner again, be sure that I will act swiftly. I have no qualms about imprisoning males and females alike." Her eyes blazed at him, but she kept her mouth shut, wisely. Jareth, infuriated, thrust her away from him and shook his head as he paced, his thoughts swirling like gas inside a crystal dome. Finally he paused and turned to her.

"I apologize if you weren't clear upon the risks and consequences of coming to the Underground, but as usual, that was your doing." He shook his head. "You cannot, you _will_ not, expect to find an ounce of pity within me for your failings."

Sarah stared at him for a moment, trying not to let what he'd said eat at her too badly. Idly, her mind wondered how what had started out as a lovely evening had ended up like this, and the anger that thrust the answer forward comforted her. _He decided your future, unilaterally, Sarah. That's__ what ruined the evening._ She swallowed heavily and was surprised to find a lump the size of a grapefruit lodged in her throat. _Don't cry in front of him, don't give him the satisfaction. _She repeated the words over and over in her head, like a mantra, but it didn't help. He was right: she hadn't stopped to think and she'd landed herself in a country where she only knew him and his stooge, and had no way of getting home. Besides her lack of transportation, she had agreed to come, willingly, even if it had been under false pretenses and she knew, without a doubt, that no amount of begging would convince him to reconsider their transaction. Jareth's word was absolute. Swallowing again, she shook her head, begging her eyes to retain the tears they held until she was far away from him.

"I never presumed to expect it from you, Jareth. Kindness has never been your strong point." She met his gaze once more before she turned sharply again and strode to the end of the room. She was unwaveringly determined not to look back, even if he chased her. She made it into the hallway before the tears started. Disregarding the few people who greeted her entrance, she kicked off her shoes and snagged them by their straps before taking off down the hallway at a run.

Jareth watched her go, her final words hanging over him like his own personal rain cloud. He knew he'd been right in correcting her words about his mother and his responsibility in her misunderstanding that had brought her here, but he felt as if someone had put a vice around his heart and was squeezing. Never before had he made her cry. He'd seen her cry before, to be sure, but it had always torn at his insides with such a vengeance that he'd wanted to hunt down the person causing her pain and see to it that their pain was equally acute. In his present situation, he found that no cure he'd employed before would mend the ache.

Thunder startled him from his thoughts and he looked outside to see their wine glasses over flowing with rainwater. Tiredly, he made his way to the doors and closed them before leaving the room quietly. He may not have had any power over her, but she had plenty of power over him and what was more, the Underground took her side. He was sure the clouds did not weep for his sake

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Oooh tension.  
Delicious, no?  
I'm gonna go ahead and warn you all right now...I've been on break this past week, which is why the chapters have come so fast. I head back to school on Monday, so there may be a considerable stretch between postings, but I'll try to keep up with my writing. **

**Keep the reviews coming!**

** -Regina**


	6. Nothing Ever Goes The Way It Should

The sun rose on the Labyrinth, waking Sarah from the dreamless sleep she'd been enjoying, but she didn't stir from her bed. She rolled onto her side and buried herself in the covers, trying to escape the impending unpleasantness the day had to offer. With any luck, she'd fall back asleep soon and miss the appointment with Jareth and his family. Rude it may be, but she was in no mood to have to deal with him again, not so soon.

She lay still, her eyes closed, legs curled slightly, one arm tucked under the pillow and tried to pretend she couldn't feel the eyes of a person or persons unknown boring into her back. After a minute of the feeling, she groaned loudly and rolled awkwardly so she could look over her shoulder at whoever was being so wholly unpleasant. The Sisters Grim were standing at the edge of her bed, watching with such looks as if to suggest to her that by sleeping in she'd committed more than three mortal sins and was close to a fourth.

"Please send the valet up to my _room_," she said quietly, hoping to elicit some kind of pleasantness from the two tombstones. Their faces didn't change. Groaning, she pushed herself up in bed on all fours and did her best to straighten her clothes, which had become disheveled during the night. "Come On Wednesday, Morticia…Lilies of the Field." She looked for any signs of recognition in their faces and found none. "Sidney Poitier?" They remained standing just as they had, their hands clasped in front of them, their gazes barely registering below glaring and a little to the left of absolute hatred. Sarah shook her head, her jaw flexing angrily. Yesterday they'd been a little taken aback at her attitude, but they'd been fairly kind, nonetheless. She could only assume that this new ice cold-doom-on-you attitude was some sort of trickledown from her confrontation with Jareth, last night. Slowly she extricated herself from the warm blankets and sheets and set her feet down on the cold floor, savoring the way the shorter girl's nostrils flared with disgust at her Cookie Monster tank top and plaid boxers.

"It's a classic. Trust me. You'd benefit from a viewing." Mother Maria had nothing on these two. Skirting the taller one, she made a beeline for the bathroom, her bladder issuing death threats if last night's wine didn't make an exit. At the door Morticia's voice called to her and she stopped sharply, turning to look back at the pair.

"His Majesty requests us to remind you that you are to attend and audience with his father and brother this morning. We'll lay out your clothes, _milady_." Sarah watched as the two lifelike Roger Rabbit wannabes curtsied stiffly and then headed for the closet, silently, while flinging daggers at her with their eyes. Her last word held so much venom that Sarah was sure she'd find a hole burned in the bathroom door as she stepped inside and closed it. The wood looked as if it might have been singed, but there was no hole, so Sarah went about her business without too much worry.

As she washed her hands, she met her own eyes in the mirror and studied the woman she found there. She didn't look any different from the woman she'd seen every other day for the past twenty-one years of her life, but somehow, the person before her had taken a perfectly good situation and turned it completely upside down. The side of her that craved approval begged her to run, find Jareth, and apologize for what had happened and return things to the way they'd been, but the side that had been awoken on her previous trip barred the way.

"He did it to himself," she told the mirror firmly, her eyes hardening with each second. "He filled my head with fairy tales and made me believe I was coming back here because we have some sort of bond; for love instead of country." She filled her hands with warm water and splashed it over her face, catching her hair in the crossfire and looked back at the mirror as rivulets of water trailed down her cheeks. Snorting derisively she shook her head and reached for the hand towel to her left, mopping up her complexion before straightening. "But, he played a 15 year old last time. Things are different now."

The bathroom door opened and Sarah peered out for a moment before making her grand re-entry. Morticia and Wednesday were laying out a full length, long sleeved, empire waist gown that made her breath hitch even to look at it. It was gorgeous and she felt her resolve to stick it to Jareth weakening with each second she stared at it. With a motion that took all of her strength, she tore her eyes away from it and made her legs march her straight across the floor and into the closet. She heard the Addams family twittering, questioningly, but ignored them as she delved into the left side of the closet. She flipped past three pairs of jeans before she found a pair of low-rise flares that would suit her purpose. Ripping them from the hanger, she rounded the end of the aisle and whipped into t-shirt land long enough to grab a black Red Jumpsuit Apparatus tee. Walking to the end of the rows, she perused the assortment of jackets that stood before her before pulling a beige corduroy one down to herself and heading back to the front of the closet. The two girls were waiting for her, looking subservient but completely menacing, all at once.

"Begging your pardon, milady, but we've laid out your attire for the day, already." Wednesday ground out the words as if someone was tightening the thumb screws with each word. Sarah smiled and shrugged.

"No offense, but I'm not feeling the 1626 motif today." She raised the clothes in her hand and smiled, nodding at the jumbled assortment of modern garb. "I'm a 21st century girl. I gotta keep it real." She made to move past them, but they blocked her way.

"You'll be meeting with the Royal Family today, Lady Sarah," Morticia said, her eyes peering down at Sarah disgustedly. "Decorum dictates that you dress appropriately." Sarah quirked an eyebrow and a malicious glint came into the taller girl's eyes. "As does His Majesty." Sarah's face blossomed into a golden sunrise and her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.

"Really?" Her voice took on an awe inspired tone, complete with choked whispering. She clasped her jeans to her chest and pretended to wipe a tear from her eye before her face fell to stone and she advanced on the two of them.

"I get that you're…part of the royal household or…whatever, but I want you two to understand this, well." Morticia shrunk slightly as Sarah moved in close, her face centimeters from the other girl's. "Jareth may have you by the short ones, but I'm a free agent." She looked sharply over at Wednesday and raised her eyebrows suggestively. "So if his Royal Highness wants me to dress in a certain manner, he can come down here and do his very best to…convince me of his side. But until then, I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. I've been dressing myself since I was six and I've managed pretty well, if I do say so." She forced a smile and stepped around the two, heading for her bedroom. At the door, she paused and turned back.

"Besides, a family is supposed to love you unconditionally. If they don't like what I wear, then I suppose I'll just have to cry myself to sleep." She watched their expressions for a moment longer and then headed into the bedroom, rummaging through the drawers of the bureau, where the duffle she'd packed from home had been stashed, for underwear and socks before she disappeared into the bathroom to change.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom looking like an ad for back to school specials at a department store. She watched the girls take in her look as she knelt down, rummaging under her bed for the sneakers she'd specifically requested be placed there. As she crawled back out, triumphant, she sat back against the bed and pulled them on over her socks, glancing at the girls with a lopsided grin. Their initial reaction had been shock and horror, but now she could see them warming to the look.

"Don't miss me, too much," she said as she pulled herself to her feet and headed for the door. "I know it'll be hard…but…" The girls, who'd been regarding her clothes with looks that approached admiration, now turned them back to stone as they watched her. She shook her head and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind her. As she turned to look at her surroundings, she half expected to find Jareth waiting for her there, but the hallway was empty. A smile flew to her lips, as if to convince her that she was glad of the solace and to hide the sinking feeling in her chest. Tucking her fingers into her pockets, she started down the hallway, her memory recalling the twists and turns she needed to follow to find Jareth's study.

--

Jareth had spent most of the night in his study after discovering that sleep wanted to have nothing to do with him. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw _her_ eyes as they filled with tears and it burned him to the core. He'd never meant to hurt her.

Arroyan, for his part, had proved extremely loyal in his absolute silence about dinner. He sat before the fire and read quietly, another gigantic tome opened on his lap, his legs crossed at the knee to steady the monstrosity. Jareth, from behind his desk, kept their topics of conversation upon the matters of state described in the documents before him and Arroyan answered succinctly before returning to his book. Jareth's mind toyed with the idea of apologizing to Sarah and coming to some sort of reconciliation, right up until the knock sounded on his study door.

His eyes met Arroyan's before he cleared his throat and called a firm, clear, command to enter. From his place, he had no way of judging Sarah's state this morning and his eyes rested on Arroyan, to gauge his reaction as they rose to greet her. Arroyan's eyes stared blankly for a moment, then his eyebrows rose slowly, and then his face broke into a bright smile as he set his book aside and crossed to her. Jareth took it as a good sign that she looked better than he felt and began moving around his desk as Arroyan led her further into the room. His eyes turned to her and his heart stopped.

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" He asked, surprised by the calmness of his own voice. Sarah, who'd been grinning at something Arroyan had said looked over to him, her eyebrows raised, skeptically.

"Um…talking to Arroyan." She gestured to the man next to her, speaking slowly, as if Jareth were a child. Her response relit the fire that had petered out at the sight of her tears and he stalked towards her.

"I gave specific instructions that you were to dress formally," he growled as she crossed her arms over her stomach.

"I heard that." Her brow furrowed as if she were trying to recall something, desperately, and then she shook her head and looked up at him, with an apologetic grimace. "Sadly enough, I thought it was ridiculous." Jareth stared at her, dumbfounded, and she shrugged. "We're meeting your father and your brother, right?" He didn't respond and she took it as affirmation. "Well, if they're anything like you, they should completely fall for the innocent teenager look, don't you think?"

He'd been wrong before. The tears must've belonged to some poor alligator that she'd bludgeoned into submission. There was no sadness in her eyes, only malice. She meant to humiliate him. Shaking his head, he regarded her coolly and then looked to Arroyan, who was watching him openly, with interest. They passed a few silent words and Jareth sighed, looking back at her before turning to his desk to retrieve his coat.

"Your tardiness has delayed us too long, as it is. I suppose my family will have to endure the discourtesy as best they can." He sneered at her and her face melted into a mask of mock pity.

"Those poor, _poor_, royal men. How ever will they survive the sight of a woman in pants and a jacket?" She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and then dropped it, her expression cool. Jareth's face betrayed nothing, but he did not stop to apologize when he brushed past her roughly and strode down the hallway without looking back.

--

The door to Armand's room opened as Jareth and his entourage entered. Armand and Astonsius looked up from their conversation and rose as the three gentlemen entered the room.

"Good morning, Jareth," Armand said heartily as he crossed the room to meet his eldest son halfway. They embraced and then pulled back so that the former king could examine his son's face. "You look tired."

"I am," Jareth grumbled in a low voice. His eyes betrayed hidden emotion and Armand chuckled at it, guessing his son's plight easily.

"We Fae were always foolish to assume that our race was superior to the mortals. Your mother taught me that, soon enough." He smiled a Jareth warmly. "But enough of this talk, why did you not bring her?" A small laugh caught his attention and he glanced over Jareth's shoulder at the third member of their party before looking back to Jareth, who seemed to have almost flinched at the noise.

"Father," Jareth began in a tone so wholly begrudging that Armand felt himself recoil slightly, "May I present the Lady Sarah?"

Armand looked past Jareth towards the third member and found, upon inspection, that the lad, as he had instantly supposed she must be, was rather effeminate, despite his clothes. In fact, the longer he examined her, the more he saw her delicate features: the curve of her hip, the curl of her loose hair, the gentle edge to her jaw, the accentuation of her eyes. She was dressed as a man in denim pants and an odd style shirt with printing across her chest, but her smile was enough to make him look past all that. Her smile was so much like Delia's in so many ways. True, Delia had never presumed to dress herself as a man, but this Sarah radiated the same kind of cool confidence and vulnerability that he had admired in Delia. He smiled in return and stepped towards her confidently, catching Jareth's shock, from the corner of his eye, as he extended his hand to grasp hers affectionately.

"You certainly may." His eyes searched hers for a moment and he saw in them an entire lifetime of love and happiness waiting for Jareth. He also saw hurt and confusion, but they were secondary now. She was, in his eyes, delightful, inside and out.

"Welcome to the Underground, Sarah. I trust my son has arranged things to your satisfaction?" She smiled and glanced over his shoulder at Jareth before looking back at him with a delicate shrug.

"More or less." Armand laughed heartily and nodded, turning halfway to look at Jareth, who was regarding her with a sheepish, yet…exasperated expression. It only made the former king laugh more. He recalled the days when he and Delia had played the same coy games in his own parent's presence. It was ironic how alike Jareth was to his former self, and he turned back to Sarah with a patient smile.

"I should hope that the good outweighs the bad." She made no move to speak, her eyes trained on his, and he recognized her unwillingness to divulge more about her relationship with Jareth than absolutely necessary, to anyone not directly concerned. It was a good sign. "In either case, however, my name is Armand and I am wholly at your service."

-

Jareth watched his father and Sarah's exchange with baited breath. Aside of Arroyan, his father's was the opinion he respected most and though he could've flown at her for the flippant remarks she'd made earlier, he desperately wanted his father's approval of her.

"Ahh Jareth, you should've allowed me a chance when I offered." He turned slightly to find his brother next to him, regarding Sarah with a hungry and amused glint in his eye. Astonsius tsked quietly and cocked his head to one side. "You couldn't even persuade her to dress as a lady." Their eyes met and Astonsius smiled wickedly. "Shame."

Jareth watched silently as his brother approached his father, Arroyan, and Sarah and introduced himself. The fact that Astonsius was permitted to touch her _hand_ made his blood boil and he restrained himself from lunging across the room and fulfilling his former desire to throw his younger brother from the nearest window. He felt the familiar tingle of someone watching him and looked away from Sarah and Astonsius in time to catch his father looking back at Sarah, who, Jareth was pleased to note, had a look of distaste written across her face as Astonsius addressed her.

"All this formality!" His father cried heartily, drawing Sarah's attention back to him. "Enough lurking in the doorway, Sarah, come sit with us awhile." She smiled winningly and let Armand guide her across the room to a small sitting area. Jareth followed the party, for a moment forgetting why he'd been so angry with her, previously. She'd succeeded in winning his father over, without lifting a finger, and as he settled himself in a wing backed chair, across from her, he found himself studying her closely.

Lord, but she knew how to irk him. The irritations that he kept so closely in check seemed to be public domain to her and she had the uncanny ability to manipulate them without displacing a single strand of hair from that lovely head of hers. She laughed sweetly, drawing him back to the moment. His father had said something witty. Armand, Sarah, and Arroyan were talking spiritedly, comfortable within their own circle, but Astonsius sat as quietly as he did, brooding. Again, Jareth felt his anger flare up at Astonsius' mere presence. The man didn't deserve to breath the same oxygen as Sarah did, let alone share the same room with her and his presence was like a black mark on a white shirt; a situation Jareth knew only too well, given his station in life.

Her eyes drew him in from his lengthly reflection, and he found the trio watching him, a bright smile lighting Sarah face and eyes as she turned to look at his father. His eyes followed her example.

"The Brothers Grim," Armand said with a chuckle, surveying his sons. Sarah smiled, looking at them both. "Come boys, we're in the presence of beauty and wit. Surely you can muster the strength to converse politely."

"It's not that we lack the enthusiasm, father," Astonsius chimed in, after a moment. "You simply leave us no wit to impress the lady with." Armand chuckled appreciatively.

"One day, Astonsius, you may enjoy the same pleasure. Possibly." The entire room laughed at the younger son's expense and then sobered, little by little. Jareth barely noticed, but Astonsius seemed to have bolstered himself from the comment and his air changed slightly.

"Wit I may not possess, father," Astonsius continued, "but I do have my own questions for Sarah, if she will permit me."

-

Sarah glanced at Astonsius and regarded him for a moment before nodding gently. She kept a careful watch on Jareth, from the corner of her eye. He was oddly quiet, and she felt, rather than saw that he was constantly keeping track of her. Sometimes, she caught him staring at her and others she simply _felt_ him, as if he were inside of her soul. It sounded cheesy, even in her head, but it was true. If she weren't mistaken, he was thinking about her, had been since his father had introduced himself. Dragging her thoughts away from him, she focused on Astonsius, waiting for the question to come.

"How do you feel about my brother?"

The room ground to a stop and then sped up to extremely slow motion. She felt her cheeks blush over the course of five years and dropped her gaze to her hands, which had begun to wind themselves together. As the other three people in the room exploded on her behalf, she considered the question. It was the biggest one; the one everyone had been avoiding since she'd arrived. She was as guilty as the rest, in that regard. _And_, she admitted to herself, _completely unready to honestly answer. I've been here a day and already I've had my heart stomped on and my perspective of things shattered._ Swallowing, she lifted her head, amidst the tumult that had ensued while she collected herself.

"-no right to ask her such a thing!" Jareth's father was livid, his face red as he glared at his youngest son. Astonsius didn't looked phased in the least, though from the looks Jareth, Arroyan, and Armand were giving him, she sincerely hoped that some small part of him wanted to curl up and hide somewhere. If not, she decided, he was completely devoid of human emotion. Not that the idea surprised her that much.

"It's all right," she said quietly, drawing the attention of all four men.

"No, Sarah, it's not," Jareth replied, but not unkindly. His eyes flicked back to Arroyan and she was overcome with a strong desire to never upset Jareth this badly, if that was the look she'd receive. Even after her outburst last night, she still hadn't received a look _that_ severe.

"Really, it's fine, Jareth," she said firmly. He looked back at her questioningly and she smiled comfortingly, despite the protests of the grudge she had doggie bagged from dinner. As her eyes turned toward Astonsius, she called on the harsh feelings from the previous night and regarded Jareth's brother coolly. His eyes begged for her awkward answer, for her to say that her feelings were none of his damned business and to tell him where he could shove the question, but she'd learned from her time in New York that there was only one way to deal with people like him. And that was honestly.

"I like him a _hell_ of a lot better than you," she said simply. The smile that had begun to grow on Astonsius' face evaporated quickly and she felt the grudge throwing a party. Something had been accomplished with her anger, at least. The room fell silent and her eyes met Jareth's. Though his mask was in place, his eyes were proud of her. The fact did something funny to her chest and she felt herself flush again as she looked away. Surprisingly enough, the voice that broke the silence sounded oddly harsh and she glanced to her right at Arroyan as he rose.

"I'd lost track of the time, Sarah." Slowly, she got to her feet as well and the Royal Family rose as one, out of decency. She had no idea what was going on, but Arroyan's eyes plainly told her that now was not a time for her to let her mind rule the situation. She needed to cooperate with him, unquestioningly. Arroyan turned smiling eyes to Armand and bowed. "Sarah and I have lessons we must begin."

Armand smiled and nodded at Arroyan, turning to Sarah and opening his arms. The rest of the room watched, slightly dumbfounded, as she stepped forward and embraced the older man warmly.

"You must visit me again," he said to her. She nodded against his shoulder and they pulled back as he surveyed her features lovingly, in the manner of a doting grandfather. "Soon." She nodded again, to his amendment and then, avoiding Jareth's eyes, followed Arroyan to the door. Arroyan paused and bowed to the three before holding the door open for Sarah. She looked back and smiled in the general direction of the Redevia trio, not trusting herself to meet Jareth's gaze, just yet. And with that, she left

-

The door closed on Arroyan and Sarah and at once the elder members of the royal line rounded on the younger with the look of feral animals, primed to attack.

"How dare you?" Jareth asked, his voice low and dangerous. He brushed the chair he'd sat in aside and advanced on his brother, his eyes alight with the desire to tear the younger man limb from limb. Astonsius stood his ground, to his credit, but Jareth was in no temper to consider what kind of leniency his brother did or did not deserve.

"She chose to dress as a man," Astonsius began, smugly. "I only felt it proper, in that light, to treat her as such." Jareth's hands were at his throat in moments, drawing him towards his older brother forcefully.

"You cross lines that are better tread with caution," Jareth murmured, his face inches from Astonsius'. "The next infraction will be met with blows." He released Astonsius forcefully, sending the younger stumbling backwards clumsily. When he finally righted himself, he looked to his father for some kind of aid, but the eldest of the three bore the same fury as Jareth and merely watched as his second son straightened his clothes. Without a word, Astonsius strode to the other end of the room and out into the hall. Jareth and his father exchanged tired glances as they sat once more, the door slamming shut. Armand stared pensively into the shadows. With a sad grin, he spoke.

"And so it begins."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay...so I misspoke earlier.  
This one was itching to get out. And I hate itches, so...here you go.  
The rest of the chapters really _might_ take longer to write, but just keep your eyes peeled.  
And keep the reviews coming!**

**Thanks ducklings.  
-Regina  
**


	7. If Love Is A Labor

The gardens were in bloom. Sarah found herself drawn there, nearly every day. Sometimes she fooled herself into thinking that it was because she was going to read the 4 million books Arroyan had given her on etiquette and decorum. Other times she'd stolen a snack from the kitchens and needed somewhere to eat it. And still other times, she was sure that the sunshine was calling to her, begging for her to come and sit below the willow's branches and let her thoughts take her where they would. The castle was cold and sterile, aside from her own quarters, but the grounds were lush and inviting. They called for meditation, lollygagging, deep thought, and any other occupation she could convincingly suggest.

This afternoon, she'd decided she was really going to read one of the books Arroyan had given her. She reclined in her usual place and propped the book open on the ground, flipping through the pages until she found her last stopping point. She was reading about the precise manner in which a queen should accept the gift of a dog from a man who was not related to her. Sarah was sure her eyes were about to fall out of her head from boredom, but she read the entire section and then sat back to reflect upon it, just as Arroyan had instructed her to do at their first lesson, after she'd met Jareth's father. She sat up, leaned her back against the trunk of the willow, and closed her eyes against the sunlight filtering through the branches.

_If I were entertaining men at all, it wouldn't be privately. I'd be married. And no matter what he's done, Jareth doesn't need a skank on his hands with everything else he has to deal with, _she reasoned, going through the argument by herself just as she might've with an actual instructor. Arroyan had duties of his own to attend to and had asked her if it would be all right if he left her to her own devices when it came to learning the material. She'd consented and often times, since then, could be found, anywhere at any point, pacing the room she was in, reasoning her way into and out of a discrepancy that had arisen in her mind. Most of the book she was currently reading was devoted to helping a queen hide her infidelities from the king. It was fairly grotesque, but Sarah read it anyway and had become uncannily good at spotting those women at court who employed its tactics, even though they were not, and never would be, queen. The book employed the idea of fawning over the king as much as was physically possible at any point in time when the two were together to ensure he thought that things were fine between them, and to always, _always_, conduct "personal matters of fulfillment" during the day, so as to leave the night open for more reassuring pastimes with the ol' ball and chain.

According to the book, however, things were perfectly fine between Jareth and Sarah, which was to say that they were both faithful to the agreement they'd made and each other. Since her confrontation with Arroyan a week ago, she and Jareth had had little time together and when they _were_ alone, they had little to talk about. Her anger with the King had faded as the week had passed and she'd almost found herself looking forward to the meals when Jareth would appear a half an hour late and sit down next to her quietly as if he were right on time. On such occasions, they would discuss the state of the kingdom (what little she understood of it), her lessons, and the plans for the engagement party.

Her eyes snapped open and a feeling of cold dread trickled down the back of her throat as she dove forward, snagging the book in her hands, and stumbled to her feet, heading back to the castle at breakneck speed. The engagement party had been planned entirely by Arroyan, but she was well versed in her place in it and had been given strict instructions that she was to meet Jareth in his chambers at noon to go over the last minute things she needed to remember. The Underground, being slightly behind the Aboveground, was still without watches, except for pocket watches, which, as a woman, she wasn't allowed to carry and as she raced through the halls of the castle, she mentally prayed that Jareth was running late again.

After her run-in with Astonsius, the week before, Sarah had been escorted from the room by Arroyan, who told her in no uncertain terms that she was not allowed to ever engage a man of noble blood and station in that manner, ever again, until she was married to Jareth and had every right under the law to make him look like a fool. When she'd questioned it, Arroyan had responded that if she were to cause too great an upset in the Underground, she might well destroy it by another road than allowing it to rip itself in half. She was hardly satisfied by the cryptic response, but her conscience would not allow her to harm this land or, to her chagrin, Jareth, in any way. Reluctantly she'd agreed, and since then had been on her best behavior, but Jareth's behavior towards _her_ had suggested that her display had left a more lasting mark than she'd originally believed. He refused to divulge the details of the situation, but she'd been watching herself carefully since then, hoping that she hadn't wrecked anything besides her chances of a peaceful life with the King.

She skidded to a stop outside the door to his rooms and pressed her hands to her knees as she doubled over to catch her breath. The gardens were clear across the castle and she'd run all the way there, which, if she was being honest, was something that even those scarily fast people from Kenya would've had trouble with. Much like the Labyrinth, the castle shifted when the force of the Underground sensed distress, so as to ease the burden the monarchs had to bear. When it sensed need, it would try and direct you to the place you needed to be, most. As she'd run, her mind going a mile a minute, Sarah had found herself first in the hallway leading out to the Labyrinth, and coincidentally to the Gateways, which mimicked her desire to escape the engagement and just go home. She'd also been thinking about the last chapter of the book she'd read, and had found herself in a hallway she'd never seen before that was lined with doorways, from behind which odd noises and groans issued. Next she'd thought of how badly she needed advice, and her next path had been to Armand's chambers. Finally, she'd stopped stock-still and thought of Jareth and the scene had changed to show his own hallway and she'd been able to continue on without further distraction.

Her breathing slowed gradually, and she straightened, lifting a hand to knock against his door, just as it swung open and Jareth looked out at her evenly. His gaze wandered a moment, to take in the sight of her, and then he stepped back solemnly.

"It's about time."

--

Pacing had become Jareth's new favorite pastime. It seemed to cover the entire range of emotions he'd succumbed to in the week following Sarah's meeting with his family. Though he, and indeed his father, had enjoyed her masterful display of power as she quashed Astonsius' trap, she'd done more damage than good. The Council, it seemed, had taken a keen interest in the new addition to the Kingdom, terms of which had been exchanged immediately following her arrival. It was customary for a mortal to be presented to the Council for a hearing that would determine whether or not they would be allowed to remain, but given the precedent, and the situation, the Council had waved that bit of formality in exchange for surveillance and reports of Sarah. It was those reports which worried him so much. Daeson had come and gone over the week to deliver the Council's messages and to tell Jareth of the doings of the Council in regards to Sarah. Though all the meetings with his childhood friend left him slightly worried about his future with Sarah, the last of them had been the most impacting.

"They know of her powers," Daeson had said quietly as they sat in Jareth's study, snifters of brandy discarded on the table. Neither one had much of an appetite for the drink, given the circumstance of the visit, but it was there to soothe their nerves, should the need arise. Jareth nodded quietly, not needing to speak just yet.

Sarah's powers. It was a topic he was discovering little by little. The first display had been at that disastrous dinner a week ago. The Underground had poured rain in concurrence with the hurt she'd felt and had blown fierce winds when she'd seethed in Astonsius' presence. The garden, which had become her sanctuary, was constantly blooming new and more vibrant flowers than Jareth had ever seen and the Underground's harvest was yielding crops as it never had before.

"She's both an incredible asset and a significant threat to the Underground," Daeson said firmly, calling Jareth back. "She overflowed the river by five feet because the two of you fought and the winds from her temper destroyed three grain silos, but her mere _presence_ has not only rejuvenated the very earth, but provided anything and everything the Underground could possibly need. It's as if she's a very generous dictator who holds the Underground captive to her whims." Jareth quirked an eyebrow.

"And the Council finds fault with this?" Daeson sighed, clasping his hands as if the subject caused him physical pain, before looking up at Jareth again.

"The Council worries that if the two of you, who obviously both possess vast powers, are united in the bonds of marriage, that the Underground may come to great harm." Jareth stared at him coolly for a moment and then reached for the snifter of brandy, swallowing a large mouthful before glaring at his friend. The anger that had begun to simmer when Daeson had first broached the topic had risen to a full on eruption and it was merely his relationship with the younger man that kept him from lashing out. Nevertheless, his voice held the anger that his actions did not.

"I'm punished because I cannot find an appropriate queen. Once I find her, however, I'm to be punished again because she is too much the Queen she should be? Tell me, Daeson, does your precious Council never tire of trying to destroy the modicum of happiness I possess?" Jareth set down the snifter angrily and stood, pacing the study viciously.

"The Council doesn't wish to punish you, Jareth," he conceded pleadingly. "The elders are merely concerned that…" Jareth turned to look at him sharply, something in his eyes suggesting that he was very close to recanting his previous unwillingness to beat the tar out of the man. Daeson met his gaze and swallowed stiffly, but did not look away. "The two of you haven't exactly been spending time together, Your Highness. She reads in the gardens, or rides in the fields, or converses with your father while you attend to matters of state and run the Kingdom. It's not hard to guess the feelings between the two of you, and when they come to a head…well, given her abilities…therein lies the concern." Jareth sighed as the anger deflated once more and he turned to the window. The meaning behind Daeson's words was _very_ thinly veiled and it resonated with him in a way he found difficult to ignore.

He too was worried of the outcome of their wedding night, but he hadn't thought this far ahead. With Sarah's new connection to the Underground, she might well provoke a volcanic eruption or possibly even level the Unlivay Mountains, depending on how she felt, entering the contract. He couldn't risk an attack on the Underground, accidental or not, but he also couldn't risk losing her. Not again. He pressed his hands against the window sill and stared out to the gardens, the cut of the glass curving the straight oak trees into hallucinogenic visions. He hated this part, hated the way it made him sound, and more importantly the way it made him feel, but he had no choice.

"What does the Council advise?" Jareth turned slowly from the window and stared at Daeson, whose features had changed drastically in the past five seconds. As Jareth watched, the younger of the two reached for the snifter of brandy and bolted the entirety of its contents before rising to his feet. His eyes did not meet Jareth's, but stared vacantly to the left of him, as if he was worried he might be turned to stone by Medusa. He looked like a soldier, his back ram rod straight, his shoulders squared to an almost vicious point.

"The Estrelian Council requests that the High King Jareth Redevia and his bride to be, Miss Sarah Williams, present themselves for inquisition and approval of their marriage, two weeks from their engagement."

In a record four seconds, Daeson donned his cloak, fastened the clasp, bowed to Jareth and fled the room like a puppy caught eating a shoe. Jareth stood still, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stared into the fire, doing his best to suppress the urge to hurl a snifter into the flames. The suppression didn't last long.

As the glass shattered against the bricks at the back of the fireplace, Jareth resumed pacing, furiously. He was a descendant of royalty! What decree gave the Council right to make him grovel before them like a peasant? They were a body of elders, who could no more run the Underground than they could control the weather, and he had to beg like a dog in order to receive their supposedly necessary blessing on his marriage. The news distressed him, and he sought no relief from it, much to Arroyan's displeasure.

Pacing had seen him through many a sleepless night and had solved situations that, due to his sleeplessness, he had previously considered hopeless. In the back of his mind, he was constantly thinking of Sarah and her powers and how and when he was to tell her that they were a concern of a body of elders who in no way influenced the country, but who's approval they needed to have in order to be married. The whole situation was extremely irritating and, added to the frustration that was going to fall on him in three hours time, he felt ready to smash porcelain objects, just to hear the crashing.

His eyes flashed to the clock on the small table beside his bed and then he sighed, tiredly. She was late and it fanned his anger into a roaring flame. The girl could be on time to a fitting, to meals, to play with the dogs in the kennels, even to a bath, but on the most important day of their lives, thus far, she was late.

"Calm yourself, Jareth," Arroyan's smooth voice commanded. The King's eyes flicked to the corner where his Advisor sat, feet propped on a coffee table, a book in his lap, his head leaned against his fist.

"Arroyan, if you intend to speak, at least offer something of use." Jareth's snappy retort instantly filled him with guilt, but it was soon consumed by righteous indignation on his part. He resumed his pacing and heard the exasperated sigh that Arroyan heaved, directly before the ancient tome snapped shut and was laid on the table.

"I'm sure that nothing I have to say will seem to be of use to you at this time, Highness, but do try to relax. She'll be here in time for the necessary preparations. No doubt she…got lost in her studies." As usual, Arroyan was the cool voice of logic in the midst of his rampaging, completely delusional mind. Jareth paused and considered Arroyan's words, nodded tersely, and paced a bit more.

Each second that passed seemed like an eternity and he longed for her presence, if only to assure himself that she hadn't run away again. She had a soothing aura about her that he would die to experience at this moment. He was in utter agony at his lack of control and at the fact that it was noon, the ceremony started at 3, and she wasn't here. Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown his hands down and was striding to the door, hell bent on finding her and bringing her back here so they could just get through this day. Arroyan called out to him, no doubt hoping to keep him in check for just a little while longer, but he had no use for the idle reprimands of his Advisor. "Staying calm" and "understanding her concerns" were not on his top ten list of things to do right at the moment. He was currently bent on finding that brat and making sure that the afternoon went according to plan.

But she was there. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her fist raised as if to knock on the door he'd pulled away, she was there. He felt the shift and resisted the urge to pull her to him and breathe in whatever it was about her that calmed him so. His mask fell into place as he took her in and steeled himself against her, praying that Deos would give him the wisdom to control himself during the hours ahead and that she would understand and accept his proposals.

--

Sarah bristled at his terse greeting, but let it roll off her as she stepped inside the door. She was late. He had every right to be angry, especially today. As the door closed with a click, she turned to him, prepared to explain herself and apologize for being late until he could taste her remorse.

"Spare me the apologies, Sarah, now is not the time." His voice was weary, but his words were sharp and she repressed the desire to throw back a bitter retort as she the giant book in her hands down on a small table by the door.

"I didn't plan on apologizing," she lied skillfully. "I was studying in the gardens and I lost track of time." Her voice matched his in its lack of pretense or apology. Jareth stared at her without emotion and then looked up as Arroyan moved toward the pair of them, his book tucked under an arm. He paused a moment, to collect Sarah's book as well and then turned to look at the two of them. Sarah looked confrontational, but her eyes were confused and Jareth seemed resigned, but he had no doubt that in a few moments, when the task at hand was presented, they would both do their best to conceal the absolute horror they felt and oh, how he wished he could see the two mules' faces then.

"I leave you to prepare for the ceremony, your graces. May the blessings of Deos come to you now in this first time of trial and remain with you forever." The ancient blessing did nothing for Jareth, except perhaps to make him look even more uncomfortable than he had a moment ago. Sarah was, however, looking at him as if he'd just let slip a vital clue in whatever murder mystery she was hoping to solve. Her gaze shifted from Arroyan to Jareth for a moment, only to find the king staring ahead at the door, and then back, her confusion evident.

"Trial?" Her voice pleaded for explanation and Arroyan grinned, moving toward the door, his hand on the knob as he turned back to her for a moment.

"Jareth will explain everything, Sarah. Trust him." Within the next second, Arroyan had disappeared through the doorway, leaving the two alone, in startled silence. Sarah wasted no time.

"Trials?" She repeated, whirling on Jareth, her voice frightened. "What trials? What is he talking about?"

"Calm yourself," Jareth replied curtly, moving towards a table on which sat a clear crystal pitcher of water and glasses. He poured two glasses and handed one to her on his way to the couch that Arroyan had occupied moments before. He sat without instructing or inviting her to do the same and she watched as he sipped his water lazily, staring at the wall as he spoke.

"My great grandfather thought that it was not enough for a couple that intended to marry and inherit the throne to do so solely for reasons of state or for love. He was of the mind that their devotion to the kingdom must equal their devotion to each other, to ensure that the line he had begun would continue, unblemished." His eyes flicked to hers for a moment and then back to the wall. Sarah didn't move, her hands clasping the glass of water he'd given her, tightly. Jareth swallowed more of his water as if it were oxygen, before continuing.

"As the announcement of his engagement came, the King decreed that the monarch and his intended bride should prepare for the ceremony and ball in the sight of each other, with none but each other's aid, and in chastity. In this manner, they would demonstrate their love for one another and their attention to their duties in equal amounts. If the task could be completed, the two would be fit to wed. If not, a new bride would have to be chosen and the King would be subject to scrutiny."

Jareth fell silent and Sarah stared at him in shock. Her initial reaction was to put on her best ghetto imitation, say "Hell No" loudly and obnoxiously, throw her water in his face and storm out, but something held her back. She looked away from Jareth and stared down at her hands. She wasn't missing anything by not watching him. He seemed to be concentrating on being cold and rude. She stared at the water in her glass, watched as tiny bubbles rose along the sides and burst at the water line, her thoughts following the same general pattern.

They were supposed to be marrying out of love _and _duty, but as far as she could tell, duty was the only force driving this marriage.

_Quit lying,_ a small voice chimed in from somewhere inside her. She was startled to be confronted by the voice, which had, since their fight, been silent. _You've loved him since you laid eyes on him and it's only your oddly man-like pride that's kept you from telling him so. Suck it up and do what you have to._

She chanced a glance at him to find his eyes searching for hers, and looked back down, contemplating the whole scenario for a moment before the quiet voice screamed in realization. _How, in good conscience, could Jareth enter into this contract if he didn't feel something for me? He's too much of a gentleman to ever betray _me _in that manner, never mind the Underground. _

_So,_ said the voice as if it were leading a small child to the obvious answer, _he must…_

Sarah's head lifted slowly and she surveyed the man before her, her heart beginning to pick up speed as his eyes met hers in faux laziness that barely concealed the feelings she had ignored all this time. Her gut reached across all her other senses and grabbed the wheel, steering her straight for a direct question as to what was going on inside his head.

_Wait, wait, wait,_ said her logic, slapping her gut's hands away from the wheel and resuming their current course. _No one's asking anything just yet. That's just what the 10__th__ grader you were _last _time would do. Try to be a little subtler. _

Sarah, under the pretense of drinking some of her water, swallowed stiffly and then licked her lips, catching one between her teeth as she stared past the glass and down to her toes, contemplating the words she would say.

"So if we have to marry for love and duty…how do you and I fit into this scene?" A moment passed and then she felt Jareth's eyes searching for hers and looked up slowly to find him staring at her like a deer in headlights, as if that were the last question he would have ever expected her to ask on a day like today. If she was being honest, it was kind of cute. She watched as the gears turned in his head and waited to see just how much of a man he really was.

--

_Breathe, Jareth,_ his brain commanded. His lungs, which felt as if they'd been punched in, complied after a moment and he finally looked away from her, his brain processing the question she'd just asked.

There were two ways he could take what she'd inquired after, or so he liked to think. The first way, which was his own delusion that would, if he were lucky, keep him from having to enter a wholly uncomfortable place, told him that she wanted to know what she would have to do to fulfill that contract. But even as he tried to cling to that argument, the second pressed in on him.

No matter what way he looked at it, she wanted to know how he felt towards her. Part of him was relieved and wanted to get the uncomfortable part over and done with so they could get on with things, but the other part of him was much stronger. His pride would not allow him to be sympathetic and kind to someone who had stomped on his heart not once, but twice now, and was leaving herself a large doorway to do it a third time. Cruelty was his name to some tribes, and he was prepared to make her feel the same way he was, right now.

"The question is not how we fit in, Sarah, but are we suitably prepared to make such a heavy commitment?"

His eyes searched her face for some recognition of having fallen into her own trap. For a moment, it shimmered in her eyes, but as soon as it had come, it was gone again; a warmth and light had taken its place.

--

Her heart had begun hammering madly as soon as she'd realized his plan, but as she thought about it more and more, it didn't really seem so bad.

_Well, I _do _love him, _she reasoned. _And sooner or later I'm going to have to tell him. And if I don't do it now, I may very well be setting myself up for a really big fall that will find me in a thousand years, or whatever. And,_ she continued, smiling to herself, _he wouldn't be avoiding the question quite so much if he was really all prickles and thorns on the inside. _

She set her glass down, slid her hands down her hips and into her pockets, and looked into his eyes openly, her heart beating quickly at the prospect of saying the words she'd kept inside her for six years, at long last.

"If you're asking me if I love you, the answer is yes." She relished the shocked look on his face and smiled honestly, shrugging her shoulders lightly at his look of incredulity. "I think I realized it about five minutes after I got home and found Toby safe in his bed. Not that I would have traded places for anything," she continued quickly at the slight rise in his eyebrows, "it was just that…you took the world I knew and showed it to me in a light that made me realize I was allowed to hope for wonderful things."

Jareth still looked like he'd opened his front door to find Ed McMahon there with an oversized check written out to him for a million dollars. It wasn't her intent to shock him into silence, but she wasn't quite finished.

"So when Arroyan showed up in my living room and told me you needed help, he barely had to ask me to come along. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was weirded out by the sight of him in my house, but…" she shrugged her shoulders lightly. "I knew I had to come." Her eyes met his again. "For both reasons."

--

His world had ground to a halt as the words left those perfectly shaped lips that had haunted him since she'd left. _The answer is yes._ She loved him. She **loved** him! Why didn't the world know? What was he still doing here? Shouldn't he be telling everyone he could find? Well, his heart would do that. It was about to beat right out of his chest, across the floor, and into the hallway, singing all the while. Was it just that she'd fulfilled his every dream or had the sun always been so bright and beautiful?

Slowly, his mind came back to his body and he stared at the creature before him who'd been obstinate and rude and cold and callus for years, only to march herself back into his kingdom, claim his heart for her own and then storm off with it again. Only, she wasn't going anywhere. She was standing across the room from him, which, if he was being honest, was far too far away. And she was waiting for an answer from him. Her words hadn't asked, but her eyes were pleading with him for the answer to her first question. And he was sure that if he let himself go, he would say yes to whatever she wanted. After all, she loved him. Another few moments passed before he unstuck his mouth and swallowed.

"Yes," he replied simply. No other words would do. She'd not asked outright and he wasn't about to venture too much more. He may be in love with her and she may love him, but he still had his pride and it was adamant that he was not to make a fool of himself. A tentative smile spread across her features and her eyes shone with a bright light that seemed to illuminate her entire body.

"Yes?" She barely squeaked the word out, but it was there. A doting smile matched hers as he crossed the distance between them and reached out to her carefully, as if she would break at any moment. He didn't think words were necessary any longer, and nodded simply, still smiling like a fool, his hand taking hers gently. Suddenly the innocent light in her eyes disappeared and she quirked an eyebrow.

"For how long?" She grinned like the Cheshire Cat and he found himself copying it as he leaned his forehead against hers, staring down into those chocolate brown eyes that drew him in like hypnosis and held him prisoner like a slave.

"You press your advantage," his voice was low and chiding, but his joy overrode what would have normally been a snarl. She smiled and flexed her fingers between his, grinning up at him still.

"You've known me how long and you're _just_ catching on?" They both chuckled and he was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her. Some part of his brain registered the contract they were supposed to be adhering to, but the part of him that was royal through and through countered that if Liam Redevia was in his place, he would scarce be able to deny himself. That in mind, and the logical part of his mind silenced, he moved closer, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her to him gently.

--

She wanted him. Everything he was doing was right, but somehow, the timing was off. Her mind was screaming at her to make him stop and she did her best to claw her way through the fog that clouded her mind and turn her head away. She realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out quickly as Jareth pulled up short, two hundredths of a centimeter from her cheek. The exasperated sigh that left his lips caressed her cheek and moved the hair that hung around her face.

"That was close," she murmured, turning and glancing at him with a coy smile. It took a moment, but he smiled too after a bit and nodded, stepping back from her.

"Quite." His hand still held fast to hers and she glanced down at their entwined fingers smiling. The sooner they got this stupid formality over with, the better. She squeezed his hand a bit and brought his eyes to hers as she smiled.

"We only have to do this until the ball tonight, right?" He nodded, his face blank and she shrugged, tossing her head from side to side, lightly. "So, the sooner we _get_ to the ball, the sooner you can kiss me."

Jareth seemed to be a little slow on the uptake, but finally he smiled widely and nodded. She reciprocated the gesture and then took her hand from his, noting that she felt slightly naked without him connected to her. She used one foot to remove the shoe from the other and then pulled her socks off by hand, tossing them on top of her shoes. Jareth had crossed the room to a small boudoir and had removed a complete navy suit that hung from a hanger, and a pair of boots. He walked them towards the bed and laid them down gently before walking back and pulling out a gown in the same color, along with a strappy pair of navy heels. Her jaw dropped as she took in the bit of the gown she could see with him moving so purposefully, but when she tried to get closer to it, to take a better look, she found Jareth's all encompassing person pressing her back, his hands on her shoulders.

"Why can't I-" she began as she pointed past him to the gown that now lay next to his suit on the bed.

"Because you're far too inquisitive and you'd spend too much time ogling the finery and not enough time preparing yourself. You need to bathe and style your hair before you dress." His eyes bored into hers and she finally met his gaze, pouting a bit. He grinned mercilessly and resisted the urge to kiss her.

"Well you have to shower too. So you go first and I'll get my ogling over with." She proposed evenly, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin in defiance.

"On the contrary, Sarah, _I_ was not the one who ran through the palace. I bathed this morning and I'm still feeling quite refreshed from it. You, on the other hand…" He ducked away from the playful swat she aimed at his shoulder and then placed his hands back on her shoulders, turning her towards a doorway off to her left. "We've little time to dally. Bathe and prepare yourself and when you're ready to dress, your gown will be laid out for you."

Sarah let herself be propelled towards the door and cast him one last glance before ducking inside the door and closing it behind her. She leaned against the door for a solid minute, her head still catching up with what had just happened, let out an excited and overjoyed squeak, and then got down to business.

Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of Jareth's large sink mirror, toweling her hair dry and applying product to it, to keep it slightly curly and unfrizzy for the evening. Once she was satisfied with the curls, she pinned them back loosely, so that a few could spill down onto her cheek if they felt the inclination.

Her next task was the undergarments Morticia and Wednesday had left for her. The traditional bloomers and corset lay on one table, beckoning her to follow tradition. The other table held a pair of white boyshorts and a corset with a built in, strapless bra. Immediately, she reached for the latter option and stepped into them easily, surveying herself in the mirror before picking up the large white towel she'd dried off with and wrapping it around herself.

"Its not that I don't _like_ tradition," she told her reflection, as she tucked the ends of the towel in, securing it to her bosom. "It's just that if I have to wear a gown, I want to look _good_ in it. And don't get me wrong, the ladies know how to dress around here. It's just…underwire was a genius invention that they should experience. Soon."

Jareth barely looked up from the book he was skimming when the bathroom door opened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a light colored deer, wrapped in white gauze streaking towards the changing screen. There was a small scuffling sound and then a squeal of delight before rustling and zipping. Finally there came the rhythmic tick of high heels on his marble floors and within a moment, a slender finger tapped on his shoulder as Sarah cleared her throat. He stood and set his book aside before turning to survey her.

His jaw would've dropped if he hadn't had years of practice keeping it clenched closed. The woman he knew had vanished, and in her place stood a goddess. Her normally straight hair curled appealingly around her face, framing delicate features, her dark locks contrasting with the paleness of her skin.

The dress complimented her all too well. A white satin a-line gown fit her in all the right places and the navy trim that ran around the hem and cuff of the gown added a sparkling mystery to her eyes, the beading that trailed along all the edges reflecting the light with elegance and grace. As if she were a little girl, she stretched her arms out and twirled before him, one hand holing up the train of her skirt. Jareth smiled warmly as she reached her starting place and smiled at him.

"You look beautiful," he stated bluntly. She smiled, a hint of a blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"You clean up pretty well, yourself," she replied, gesturing to him. Jareth nodded and shrugged. Given the afternoon's developments, words didn't seem that important anymore.

As they stood, staring at each other, silence fell between them. Sarah's mind raced with all the reasons this could not possibly be real.

Things like this just didn't happen unless you were in a fairy tale.

She was not in a fairy tale. This was her _life_.

She'd just told a guy she'd been around for a little over a week that she loved him. Granted, she'd known him before then, but the prologue to this encounter had ended with her winning her brother back from the evil Goblin King. Hardly a promising start.

She was about to wake to the sound of KISS 95.7's 6 o'clock show, featuring the band Crossfade, live in the studio and within twenty minutes, she'd be out the door and on her way to work. That was how it would go. The dress would be a mirage, the love a fantasy, and the stellar palace and hunky guy that she was currently relishing would be a memory that she'd never share, simply out of embarrassment. And yet, somehow, this dream, if that's what it was, wasn't confusing. It wasn't fractured. It made complete sense. She stared at the blond haired bombshell across from her and unlike her dreams where she sort of felt cardiac activity, she _really _felt the cardiac activity, and she liked it.

"We've run out of time," Mr. Fantasy was saying. He pulled the suit jacket off of the back of his chair and slipped it on effortlessly, before adjusting the collar and smiling at her warmly. She smiled back, as was natural, and let him take her hand.

Even if it was a dream, it wasn't like she was being tortured.

* * *

**So, I reworked this.  
I felt that the last edition of this chapter was ... how should I put it ...  
Suckalicious beyond the realm of human comprehension.  
Yeah...that works.  
As a matter of fact, I'd been trying to work with my old ending for...what...a month now?  
It wasn't working. It took rewriting this chapter to get things right.  
So here's chapter seven. Chapter Eight is currently in the works, but looks promising. **

**Thanks for the patience!**

**-Regina**


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